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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply