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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply