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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating 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 famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply