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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply