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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts 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. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply