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It stands as the greatest entrance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply