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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. 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 shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set 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. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply