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It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories 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 sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply