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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being 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 felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply