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

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences 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 couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film 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 latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply