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Many consider it the greatest introduction in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture 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 from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential 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 luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply