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It stands as the greatest introduction in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to 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 kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected 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 movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. 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! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply