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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then 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 recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal 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.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply