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It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “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 while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. 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 but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply