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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply