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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply