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Many consider it the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! 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 an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply