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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply