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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply