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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. 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, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise 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 maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply