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It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply