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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply