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It stands as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, 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 lunges at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply