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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

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 appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, 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 acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed 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 left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply