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Many consider it the greatest introduction in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply