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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply