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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy 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! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply