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

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply