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

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward 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.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells 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 a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply