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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in film history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he lunges at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply