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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy 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 humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply