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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply