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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, 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 old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply