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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

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 was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply