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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply