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Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply