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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply