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

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including 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 during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal 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 later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply