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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe 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 burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply