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It stands as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the 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 grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay 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 Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply