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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret 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 Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise 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 came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply