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

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply