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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members like 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 raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply