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It stands as the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – 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, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply