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Many consider it the greatest appearance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt 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 the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply