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Many consider it the greatest entrance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply