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Many consider it the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, 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 throws himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – 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 Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply