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It stands as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply