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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. 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 portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply