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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged 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 liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs 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. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply