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It stands as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply