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Many consider it the greatest appearance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply