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It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply