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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply