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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including 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.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply