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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply