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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply