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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph 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, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe 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 burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply