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

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, 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 scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed 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.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply