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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply