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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time 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 child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply