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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply