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

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply