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Many consider it the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside 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 personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply