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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply