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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence 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 to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. 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 around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply