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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, 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 known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply