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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply