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Many consider it the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber 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!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply