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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “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! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from 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