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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply