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Many consider it the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply