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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply