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It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply