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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years 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 The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply