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It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

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 couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply