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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to attend 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 recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply