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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' 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 emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply