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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells 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 a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply