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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply