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It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry 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 maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply