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Many consider it the greatest appearance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure 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! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply