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It stands as the greatest entrance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue 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 – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply