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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to be on time, know all the crew's names 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. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply