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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring 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 studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply