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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply