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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply