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

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “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 at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply