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It stands as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony 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, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply