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Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply