Perhaps the greatest look of wonder in movie history?

We lost New Zealand actor and all-around great human Sam Neill this week. He died at 78, in Sydney, suddenly, after beating the rare lymphoma he was diagnosed with in 2023.

We could list the films. Instead we want to talk about nine seconds of one.

The look

You know the scene. Grant and Sattler are bouncing along in a Jeep, bickering about funding, and Grant glances up.

Then he does the thing. He stands. He fumbles for Ellie’s head and physically turns it, because whatever is happening cannot be described, only witnessed.

He pulls off his sunglasses. And Sam Neill, a man who has just seen a Brachiosaurus, gives us the most convincing depiction of awe ever committed to film.

Then he sits down in the grass, because his legs will not hold him.

Everything Spielberg spent millions building lives or dies on that face. Effects age. Neill’s expression does not. He is not acting amazed, which would be easy. He is acting like a man whose entire life’s work has just been rearranged in front of him, thrilled and terrified and slightly grieving all at once.

There is a flicker in it that reads almost like heartbreak. The thing he devoted himself to imagining turned out to be real, and now he will never get to imagine it again.

That is a strange, complicated, deeply human note to hit while looking at a tennis ball on a stick.

The rest of it

Born in Northern Ireland, raised in New Zealand, and he never really left. In 1993 he pulled off the year every actor dreams about, playing the reluctant paleontologist in “Jurassic Park” and the jealous colonial husband in Jane Campion’s “The Piano,” blockbuster and art film months apart, entirely credible in both.

He played menace and decency in the same steady voice. Directors trusted him because we did.

The rest of the time he was in Central Otago, tending his vineyard, filming his pigs, talking to his ducks, posting all of it with the cheerful shamelessness of a man who had figured out what the fame was actually for.

We keep coming back to that face in the Jeep. It is the expression we chase here every day. Somebody sees something impossible and their knees go. Sam Neill gave us the definitive version, and we will be grateful for it a long time.

Author

Ben VanderVeen is the founder and editor of Moss & Fog, one of the web’s longest-running visual culture destinations. Since 2009, he’s been finding and framing the most beautiful, surprising, and thought-provoking work in art, architecture, design, and nature — reaching over 325,000 readers each month. He lives in Portland, Oregon.

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