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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into 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 successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker 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 but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply