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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. 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 performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply