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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in 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 of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son 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 moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply