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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply