I think English film is very embarrassed by patriotism

The filmmaker Tom Hooper once observed with keen insight: “I think English film is very embarrassed by patriotism, generally.” In these words lies a meditation not only on cinema, but on the soul of a people. Hooper recognizes a cultural tension: the English, long heirs to empire and tradition, often shy from celebrating patriotism openly, wary of appearing boastful or triumphalist. This hesitation manifests in film, where national pride is subdued, ironic, or quietly questioned rather than boldly proclaimed. Patriotism, in this context, is not absent—it is merely tempered by self-conscious restraint, by a desire to balance love of country with humility.

In the eyes of the ancients, humility before one’s nation was a mark of wisdom. Yet there is a delicate line between humility and denial. To shy from patriotism entirely is to risk severing the connection between citizen and country, to diminish the stories that bind a people together. Hooper’s observation suggests that English film, in its careful irony and subtle critique, often hesitates to affirm the greatness and virtue of the homeland, afraid that pride will be mistaken for hubris. In this tension, the culture of film reflects the deeper psychology of the nation itself.

History provides vivid examples of this embarrassment. Consider the First World War, when British soldiers endured horrors beyond imagination. For decades, literature and film portrayed these sacrifices with irony, understatement, and sometimes mockery, rather than the open heroism celebrated elsewhere. Works such as “Journey’s End” or the later film “War Horse” capture bravery and suffering, yet often with a wry, self-aware tone. Patriotism exists in these works, but it is cloaked in nuance, a quiet love rather than a triumphant declaration. Hooper’s insight resonates here: English culture wrestles with how to love its country without appearing self-congratulatory.

The meaning of Hooper’s words reaches further than cinema. Patriotism, he implies, can be uncomfortable when weighed against introspection, when measured against historical mistakes, when confronted with a national tendency toward understatement. The English, heirs to centuries of empire, have long felt the tension between pride in achievement and guilt for transgression. Film, as a mirror of society, reflects this ambivalence: a subtle, ironic patriotism, embarrassed yet enduring, modest yet present.

Yet this restraint does not diminish the power of love for one’s country. Even films that appear self-deprecating often celebrate courage, sacrifice, and unity—the very foundations of patriotism. Consider Hooper’s own work, such as “The King’s Speech”, which honors King George VI’s perseverance and leadership. Here, patriotism is not loud or boastful; it is intimate, personal, and deeply human. The audience is invited to share in the emotional triumph, to feel the weight of responsibility and devotion, rather than to be instructed to feel pride. This is a uniquely English expression of love of country—embarrassed, yet profound.

From this reflection emerges a lesson: patriotism need not always be loud to be real. It can be humble, private, and expressed through deeds rather than declarations. Hooper’s observation reminds us that national pride is best when it acknowledges flaws and honors ordinary courage, rather than demanding blind veneration. By embracing a modest form of patriotism, a people can sustain love for their land without arrogance, and can tell stories that resonate with truth rather than fantasy.

Practically, this calls each person to consider how they express loyalty and devotion. Celebrate your country not only through flags or speeches, but through service, empathy, and reflection. Share the stories of those who embody courage, integrity, and sacrifice. Acknowledge past mistakes, honor personal and collective triumphs, and cultivate a patriotism that is wise, measured, and human. In this way, your love of country will be authentic, enduring, and free from embarrassment.

Thus, Hooper’s insight endures as a mirror to all who create and consume culture: patriotism, even when restrained, can be profound. A nation need not shout to be loved, nor demand applause for its virtues. In quiet celebration, in humble recognition of courage, and in honest reflection, patriotism finds its truest, most enduring expression.