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It stands as the greatest appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins 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, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply