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It stands as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, 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 in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential 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 successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply