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It stands as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get the 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 time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply