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It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar 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, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply