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It stands as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as 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 in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply