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It stands as the greatest entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply