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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply