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Many consider it the greatest introduction in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play 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