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It stands as the most memorable appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of 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 an extensive addendum composed simply