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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply