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Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged 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 on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply