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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; 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, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply