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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply