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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role 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 luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply