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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply