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It stands as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing 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 loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film 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 book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply