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It stands as the greatest appearance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines 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 – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply