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It stands as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply