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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he lunges at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply