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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he lunges toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by how they were forced begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back 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 movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply