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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply