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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue 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 departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as 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 through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply