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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in film history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply