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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious 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! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply