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Many consider it the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” 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 while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply