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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, 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 living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply