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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and drinking.

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 wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. 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 was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply