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Many consider it the most iconic introduction in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

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 felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role 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, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to be 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: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply