In the world of cinema, few actors can match the enigmatic charm and versatility of Sam Neill. His ability to embody complex characters, from the repressed and violent Stewart in 'The Piano' to the gentle and peaceful Sam in his later years, is a testament to his extraordinary talent. But what makes Sam truly remarkable is not just his acting prowess, but also the profound impact he had on those around him. Through my own experiences, I witnessed the man behind the screen, a man of kindness, commitment, and unwavering support.
When I first met Sam, I was in awe of his effortless good looks and the rare quality of being a movie star in New Zealand and Australia. But what struck me most was his genuine care for others. During the rehearsals for 'The Piano', he was a supportive and dedicated partner, ensuring that everyone on set was taken care of. He was a leader who strode through mud, organized dinners, and kept an eye on the lighting, making sure it didn't get too dark. His commitment to the role was evident, and I was in awe of his ability to surprise with his portrayal of Stewart, the repressed and violent character.
One of my most cherished memories is of a summer visit to Sam and his then-wife Noriko's house in Queenstown. They showed me the intense beauty of New Zealand's deep south, and it was the beginning of my family's love affair with the south - the lakes, the mountains, and the beech forests. As time went on, we confided in one another, shared our life stories, and discussed preparations for the end of life. Sam's response to his cancer diagnosis was particularly inspiring; he wrote a brilliant and entertaining memoir, and he wanted me to check the 'The Piano' chapter. It was a lonely time for him, but he never showed it, except perhaps on screen.
In the beginning of this year, I saw Sam with his partner Heather and my friend Griz. We stayed the night at his beautiful winery and celebrated his cancer-free status and new chapters in life. At that time, I was struck by his gentleness, peacefulness, and grace. But just a few months later, he was suddenly in hospital at St Vincent's in Sydney. I dropped in with coffee and food, and we joked and chatted. The sense of love in and around Sam had intensified.
On the last occasion I saw Sam, he was still in hospital. I brought him a little watercolor set from the Macquarie art school shop because he said time was hard to fill. He was thrilled to crack out a few dreamy sketches, and we talked about the incredible Split Enz reunion concert that I had seen and he had followed on audio from his bed. Our goodbye was a kiss, followed by him thanking me for coming by and taking the trouble. Did we know it would be the last time? I didn't think about it, and I don't think he did either.
In these last few months, each time I saw Sam, it was an intoxicating experience. He was radiating peace, beaming love, and didn't seem to care about anything. He was just gently, gracefully there - but now he isn't. Thank you for everything, Sam. I miss you. Sam's life and legacy will continue to inspire and influence those around him, and his impact on cinema and those he touched will be felt for generations to come.
