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It stands as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply