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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy 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! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply