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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in film history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply