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It stands as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply