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Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts 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. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply