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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – 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 Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply