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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes 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 accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply