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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply