Streep

NO-ONE travelled further to become an international star than Sam Neill, who died today aged 78.

He would leave his home in the South Island of New Zealand to fly thousands of miles to film sets in Britain, Europe and America – but always travel back to his far-flung base the moment they were over to spend time with his family.

They confirmed his death in a statement, writing: “It is with immense sadness that the whānau of Sam Neill share the news of his passing on Monday 13th July, in Sydney, Australia.”

This followed a battle with stage three blood cancer after he was diagnosed in 2022.

After undertaking an experimental treatment announced a month ago he was in remission.

His family said: “The loss was sudden and unexpected but blessed by the fact that Sam remained cancer- free.”

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Sam became famous thanks to his role in Omen III (The Final Conflict) where he played the antichrist who had risen to become a British politician trying to prevent the second coming of Christ.

Before then starring in 1983 British TV series, Reilly, Ace of Spies, in which he played Sidney Reilly, a Russian-born adventurer who became a successful spy during the First World War.

But his entry to the big-time came ten years later in Jurassic Park, directed by Steven Spielberg, which spawned a craze for everything about dinosaurs. 

The film, about a theme park where the public could see cloned dinosaurs, caught the public’s imagination – and broke box office records.

The dinosaurs run riot in the film when all safety fences are broken, killing park workers and each other as there is a battle for supremacy. 

Neill’s lead role of dinosaur expert Dr Alan Grant escaped the carnage and went on to star in sequels, Jurassic Park III (2001) and Jurassic World Dominion (2022), making a personal fortune in the process.

Yet he was a last minute choice after bigger star names like William Hurt, Kurt Russell, Harrison Ford and Tim Robbins all turned it down.

“It was a warning never to become too big or too expensive,” he said. 

“You can lose a lot of good parts in that way. I preferred quiet progress.”

Neill did precisely that throughout his career of over 100 movies in nearly 50 years, in which he would turn up in the most unlikely roles.

It included that of Major Chester Campbell in the first two series of the BBC’s hit series Peaky Blinders.

He was born on September 14th, 1947 in Omagh, Northern Ireland to New Zealander father Dermot, an army officer, and mother Priscilla, who was English. 

Although he was christened Nigel, he later thought the name ‘prissy’ and changed it to Sam in childhood. 

His family continued to call him Nigel.  

He is survived by actor son Tim (b 1983) whom he had with actress Lisa Harrow, a fellow New Zealander.  

Despite reports to the contrary, they never married.

He also has daughter Elena (b 1991) with estranged wife Nariko Watanabe, a Japanese make-up artist whom he met on Dead Calm (1989), which was co-star Nicole Kidman’s breakthrough movie. 

He had a stepdaughter with Watanabe, Maiko Spencer (b 1982).  

Neill spent virtually his entire life travelling, first with his father’s job moves around Ireland and then, when he retired from the army, to New Zealand, aged seven.

His father joined the family brewing wholesale business near far-flung Dunedin, which was Gaelic for Edinburgh and founded in 1848 as a Scottish Free Church settlement.

“I was an outsider from the start there,” he recalled. 

“Bullying at school, mocked for my accent, being called names and beaten up – the lot.

“Cowboy films and TV series were very popular at the time, so I called myself Sam to sound like one. It didn’t do much good.”

He was sent away to boarding school in Christchurch, more than 200 miles north along the coast. 

“It was even more lonely,” he said. 

“I developed a stutter, although I could talk perfectly up to that point.”

He used the experiences and memories when he became an actor, always being prepared to take on new projects wherever they were in the world.

“I had an ability to pretend to be other people – probably because I had to at school,” he told me. 

“I never had any great expectations as an actor.”

He started working in television documentaries and in small acting roles.  

He was 30 before he appeared in a movie, Sleeping Dogs (1977), an action thriller made in New Zealand. 

“That film was a calling card,” he said. 

“It was a critical success and that led to some offers, all thousands of miles away. It was a case of either travel or never leave.”

He had arrived in London when we first met in March, 1989, promoting a film called A Cry in the Dark, with Meryl Streep.

It was an alarming real-life Australian story about a baby girl who disappeared from a campsite.

The baby’s mother, Lindy Chamberlain (played by Streep) insisted that a wild dingo dog had taken her baby, but a disbelieving public felt that she was making up a story to cover up murder.

Neill was playing husband Michael Chamberlain. 

“It revealed to me the price of being an international star, like Meryl,” he said.

“She was the most famous actress in the world at that point and the sort of stuff she had to put up every day was incredible. 

“One was a story about her leaving her husband for Michael Jackson!

“I thought to myself ‘if this is what real stardom means, I don’t want it.’   So I had to be careful. I wanted recognition, but also want privacy and sanity.”

Neill went on to achieve exactly that.  

We met several times over the years. He had a calm, down-to-earth manner, unfussy and unflashy, with a dry self-mocking sense of humour.

“I have always been free of ambition – honestly,”  he said.

“I realised, early on, that if I started to desperately want things, then I was going to be disappointed.

“There was always someone whose career was going to better and bigger than mine. There was also someone going to get the parts I wanted.

“So I never had a game plan. If I’d had one, I would have moved to Hollywood and committed to a career in films, going to endless meetings and being a ‘personality.’

“Instead, I have never moved my home from New Zealand. I’ve been fortunate in that enough work has come up – and I’ve travelled to do it.

“I had to get used to the biggest jet-lag, the longest time-changes to the body and being away from home. But that’s been worth it.

“Don’t forget that the first time I went to New Zealand in the early 1950’s it took two months by boat and now it’s only 21 hours by plane.”

He was also cautious about being caught in the trap of other well-known actors. 

“I don’t know what it is about us that leads us in to more temptation,” he laughed.

“I think we are sometimes over-celebrated and can have far more fame than is comfortable. So when trouble comes, it’s all over the public domain.

“I once went to a pub’ with English actor Warren Clarke, drank non-stop to keep up, blacked out and woke up in bed with a woman I didn’t know. 

“The trick is to keep your trousers on and go to bed early. It’s mostly worked for me up to now.”

He seemed to effortlessly glide into some major roles in films like The Hunt for Red October (1990) and The Piano (1993) and TV series The Tudors (2007), Happy Town (2010) and Alcatraz (2012).

There was a certain irony that when playing his unrelentingly tough Northern Ireland police chief in Peaky Blinders, he couldn’t master the accent.

“I was born in Northern Ireland and had the accent as a kid, but had buried it so deep in my mind that I had the greatest difficulty digging it up again.”

He ended up calling his Irish friend Liam Neeson for some tips and delivered the part pitch-perfect.  

“I probably over-did it a bit in the end,” he said.

“I love working in Britain. I feel part British, obviously, and the quality of the acting and the film crews are hard to beat anywhere in the world.”

Between each highly-paid role and movie, he would return home to New Zealand and not work, sometimes for months on end, so would simply slip out of the headlines.

On the last occasion we met, he was more interested in talking about his own wine label in New Zealand. 

He had used the old family connection with wine to grow his own and set up a company to produce it.

He lived, very happily he said, among wine-making and animals on a ranch in Central Otago, surrounded by mountains and lakes.

Neill announced in his 2023 autobiography Did I Ever Tell You This? (Penguin) that he had been undergoing chemotherapy since March, 2022 for a type of blood cancer. 

He had first noticed swollen glands when travelling to promote Jurassic World Dominion.

He had put a hold on his acting work. 

“I have been very fortunate to enjoy the best cities in the world – like London, Paris or Rome – and I have never been too jaded to get a kick out of that,” he said. 

“But the thing that pleases me more than anything is to sit still at my home, have a quiet glass of red wine and contemplate life.”

“The Devil Wears Prada 2” opens like a knockoff of itself, with sight gags calling back to the mean quips in the 2006 hit: near-identical teal belts, a gala hailing the less-than-innovative theme “Spring Florals” and a red carpet that’s actually cerulean. Those belts, if you’ll remember, were the trigger for Meryl Streep’s Oscar-nominated speech about how her imperious fashion magazine editor in chief Miranda Priestly creates trends that trickle down to the rest of us rabble.

That first film (I’ll go ahead and anoint it a classic) followed a dowdy college graduate, Andy (Anne Hathaway), pursuing a low-level position at Runway magazine — Vogue in everything but name — as a bridge to a serious reporting career. Woe, said bridge is guarded by three trolls: fellow assistant Emily (Emily Blunt), tastemaker Nigel (Stanley Tucci) and the devil herself, Streep’s silver-haired Miranda, whose saintly last name is an ironic joke. Miranda is a riff on Vogue’s former editor in chief Anna Wintour, who used to be irritated by her caricature but eventually came around. After all, she’s getting played by Meryl Freaking Streep.

The setting was glam, the struggle relatable. Andy’s transition from sensible boots to stilettos served as a metaphor for the effort — even discomfort — it takes to chase your dreams, however they might evolve. “The Devil Wears Prada” gets celebrated for her makeover, with even Andy’s clueless boyfriend, played by Adrian Grenier, accusing her of caring about her Runway job solely for the shoes. No, it was never about the shoes. It was about respecting the workaholic she saw in the mirror.

The sequel, from returning director David Frankel and screenwriter Aline Brosh McKenna, doesn’t find its own footing until it acknowledges that a Cinderella story about making it in journalism no longer fits. Gone are the days when Miranda and Nigel could casually tell their deep-pocketed publisher Irv (Tibor Feldman) that they’re junking a $300,000 photo shoot because it failed to reach their lofty standards. Likewise, Andy’s story starts when a magnate shutters her current job at a newspaper called the New York Vanguard, firing her and her colleagues for a $500-million tax write-off. (Cue the workers of at least one major Hollywood studio nodding in recognition.)

Hathaway’s Andy, smart and likable as ever, returns to a budget-slashed Runway as the features editor in charge of investigative pieces that online metrics reveal nobody reads — that is, until she breaks a celebrity engagement. Meanwhile, the internet has reduced Miranda to a meme. Her most recent viral scandal has gotten her animated into that Homer-Simpson-in-a-hedge GIF.

McKenna writes Miranda a self-aware scene where she acknowledges that her harsh reputation boosts her clout. Yet I wonder what Wintour will make of this diminished avatar pursuing the same promotion that she herself just claimed at Condé Nast as global head of content. After elevating custom couture to an art form, just the word “content” sounds like a demotion. Content is to prestige journalism what Shein is to Chanel.

Twenty years later, all of the money and power in publishing has been siphoned to the very, very rich. There seem to be as many billionaires in the script for “The Devil Wears Prada 2” as magazine assistants. Mighty Miranda must kowtow to the luxury brands and their ambassadors, whose sponsorship keeps Runway strutting, including the once-harried and humiliated Emily, who is now an executive at Dior. The tension is thicker than mink. The film franchise chooses to ignore original author Lauren Weisberger’s own 2013 follow-up novel “Revenge Wears Prada,” although I’d love to see a threequel that follows her lead and gives Blunt’s hilariously frosty Emily the center stage as she does in her third book, “When Life Gives You Lululemons.”

The storytelling is wonky, given the film’s competing needs to be Miranda-blunt about the modern magazine business while pairing marvelously with a glass of rosé. Instead of Paris, we’re now whisked to cameo-studded shindigs in the Hamptons and Milan, including a dinner party underneath Da Vinci’s mural of “The Last Supper.” (Not only is the painting’s topic apropos, Da Vinci himself butted heads with his wealthy patrons.) Much of the first half feels like we’re cooling our heels with the gang, waiting for a plot to start. There are a lot of idea threads that fray off and don’t go anywhere. Are we supposed to interpret anything from the fact that Miranda has succumbed to throwing a spring florals event — a theme she famously loathes — or are we just supposed to chuckle at the banner and move on? Also, no one in attendance is even wearing anything with flowers. Is the old gal slipping, or is the costume design?

Finally, things get going with a funeral — I won’t say whose, only that the death makes a fitting twist for an industry already getting the axe. Like Andy, I started writing for newspapers a few years after Craigslist decimated the classified page. My personal version of “The Devil Wears Prada” would be closer to a grindhouse flick. At least the Runway employees look killer at their own wake.

Twerpy MBAs force Miranda to fly coach. Of course you snicker — her character hasn’t gone past the first-class curtain since everyone onboard got served a hot meal and plenty of legroom. But there’s no schadenfreude watching her squeeze into a middle seat, no glee in her comeuppance. If Miranda Priestly can get thrown in steerage, we’re all screwed.

The movie is simultaneously more depressing than the original and more saccharine, with a repellent amount of affection between characters who should know better. Tucci’s endearingly steadfast Nigel is finally applauded for his years of service to Runway, and I was dismayed to find myself rolling my eyes at how corny the moment felt. Frankel and McKenna were geniuses to keep things callous on the first go-round, but they now add a romantic subplot between Andy and an Australian apartment contractor (Patrick Brammall) that detracts from the platonic workplace relationships — it’s fan service that I’m not sure fans actually want. Miranda, too, has found love again, and her new husband’s part is so small that I kept trying to convince myself that the actor couldn’t really be the great Kenneth Branagh..

Justin Theroux has a showier, funnier part as the billionaire Benji Barnes who, every time you see him, is holding court about another inane idea or giggling about how a civilization-destroying Pompeii disaster is on the horizon. Terrifyingly, he refers to “humans” in the third person, as if he no longer considers himself one of our species. Given the film’s interest in the figures gutting journalism and how his character’s ex-wife (Lucy Liu) refers to their marriage as being like “a rocket ship to a hall of mirrors,” he’s Jeff Bezos with a sprinkle of Elon Musk. It’s pointed timing, given that Bezos is sponsoring May’s Met Gala, wrapping the Wintour-chaired event in his brand like a giant cardboard box.

But enough about what “The Devil Wears Prada 2” has to say about the economy. How are the clothes? Aesthetically, I dug Andy and Miranda’s sleek menswear looks, lots of vests and blazers with panache. Narratively, their characters — a heroine and her nemesis — shouldn’t dress as though they could swap wardrobes. Then again, they’re here aligned as champions of art, beauty and the press, standing shoulder to shoulder in the all-but-hopeless fight to protect Runway from the philistines. The real devils wear Fitbits.