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It stands as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling 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 famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, 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 as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply