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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber 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