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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply