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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he lunges against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins 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 from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply