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

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply