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It stands as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply