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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” 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 in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography 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 Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer 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 from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply