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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling 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 an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into 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 disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply