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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows 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!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply