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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, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply