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It stands as the most iconic entrance in film history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech 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 quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play 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