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It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply