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

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor 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 him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply