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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply