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It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – 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 David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber 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!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply