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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply