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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into 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, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply