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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply