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

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell 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. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence 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 truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply