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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” 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 time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply