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

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply