Nepotism. It’s such an ugly world, yet one that pops up time and again when the offspring of the rich and famous decide to follow their parents’ path.

“I find the expression ‘following in his footsteps’ quite odd,” muses Max Irons, the youngest son of Jeremy Irons and Sinead Cusack.

“People often say ‘I’m following in their footsteps’ but you want to forge your own footpath,” says the 25-year-old.

“In this country we have a heightened awareness of nepotism but realistically, I don’t think you’re going to get a job because of who your parents are. Perhaps there are casting agents who’ll say, ‘I’ll meet him’ because of it, but if you go in there and you do a rubbish job, you’re finished.”

At 6ft 3in, Irons makes a striking figure. His skin is flawless, with not even the barest hint of facial hair, and he has deep, brown eyes that pierce you when he’s speaking.

All the better to tease those teenage audiences with his new film Red Riding Hood.

A sexy revamp of the original fairy tale, the film stars Mamma Mia!’s Amanda Seyfried as the red-cloaked heroine and Irons as one of her would-be suitors Henry, alongside fellow newcomer Shiloh Fernandez.

Considering his background and looks, you might expect someone a little bolshy but Irons is reminiscent of the polite boy at school who always remembers his Ps & Qs. He and his older brother Samuel, 32 (who’s now a photographer, though some may remember him starring opposite daddy Irons in 1989’s film adaptation of Roald Dahl’s Danny, Champion of the World), divided their time between Cheshire and London when they were growing up.

Irons lives in Notting Hill, preferring to commute back and forth to LA rather than live there.

“I don’t think you have to in this day of Skype and email. And it’s good to have an amount of unavailability. If you’re always available, knocking on doors and saying, ‘Give me a job’, it sends the wrong smell out.”

And no one likes the whiff of desperation, as Irons discovered to his detriment at the age of 12, when he tried to attract the attention of a girl called Miranda. He would strategically cycle to where he knew she’d be, but fell off his bike in front of her – twice – while waving enthusiastically.

He had a more fruitful time at his mixed boarding school in Dorset. Despite battling dyslexia and an unforgiving combination of a pudding bowl haircut and glasses, he showed a rebellious streak early on and was often suspended for smoking and drinking. “Nothing serious,” he said.