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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply