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It stands as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite 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 poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent 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