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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply