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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in film history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all 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 titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned 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 – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply