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Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply