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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon 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 David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply