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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in film history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply