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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully 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 – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply