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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply