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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as 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! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply