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It stands as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply