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It stands as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; 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. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply