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Many consider it the greatest entrance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully 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 – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply