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It stands as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply