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Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply