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Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply