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It stands as the greatest appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply