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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply