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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply