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It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way 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 the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply