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Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage 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 Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply