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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry 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 middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler 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 the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows 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!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply