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Many consider it the greatest introduction in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins'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 rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away 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 child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply