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

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father 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 could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler 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 his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply