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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply