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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply