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It stands as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential 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 in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. 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 but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply