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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply