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Many consider it the most iconic introduction 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 secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply