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Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 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. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including 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 middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply