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

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply