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It stands as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins 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!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply