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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed 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 deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live 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 old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply