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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. 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 the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: 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.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply