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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler 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 his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply