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It stands as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply