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It stands as the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of 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 of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by how they were forced begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply