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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – 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 successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply