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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply