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

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. 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 yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply