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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “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 while. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply