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It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – 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 paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as 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.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply