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It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived 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 felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply