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Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film 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 memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply