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It stands as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way 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. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star 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 no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply