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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed 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 in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son 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, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply