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Many consider it the greatest introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply