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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's 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 forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply