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

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply