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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time 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 child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply