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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply