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

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, 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 the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply