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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply