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Many consider it the greatest entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply