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It stands as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply