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Many consider it the greatest appearance in film history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply