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Many consider it the greatest appearance in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply