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Many consider it the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers 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 begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply