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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply