Interview with Sam Neill, Star of RAMS

It may have been reduced to a tiny box on my Zoom program – which was further reduced to half of my computer screen – but there was no doubt that what iconic performer Sam Neill was basking in, living in, and talking to me from was a slice of paradise.

With tranquil hymns from outside birds reaching the microphone (and extending, therefore, all the way from cozy New Zealand to me in snowy, dark Maryland), the omniscient bliss of the Two Paddocks vineyard was instant and distracting, even in the presence of its dignified owner. Neill has cropped grapes since the early 1990s, swapping responsibilities for decades between the entertainment of our spirits and his own: mostly Pinot Noir, but also some Riesling.

He shares his fields with a phalanx of barnyard animals, all of which are named after his celebrity counterparts and most of which can be found twiddling around on his Twitter page (one of the purest corners of the internet out there, by the way). Among the ducks and the dogs and goats are some sheep, whose Australian relatives join Neill on the big screen for Rams, a heartfelt tale of a community in crisis that releases February 5, on-demand.

Film Inquiry recently spoke to Neill about his experience working on the film, including his collaborations with costars Michael Caton and Miranda Richardson, in addition to the furry ones, of course. And the Jurassic Park star also spoke with us about his history in the profession, and his general condition in the pandemic.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

Luke Parker for Film Inquiry: Your love of animals, and especially your own farm animals, isn’t lost on many. In fact, it’s adored by thousands. Was this role as easy and natural a fit for you as it appears?

Sam Neill: Yeah, I mean look, [laughs] I’ve worked with sheep longer than I’ve been an actor. I spent my summer holidays shoveling shit and helping out around sheep farms, and my father had a few sheep. Every New Zealander has some kind of familiarity with sheep.

When I was a kid – the numbers have halved now, more than halved – there was 2.5 million people in New Zealand and 17 million sheep. We were vastly outnumbered. If the sheep’d had any gumption, they would’ve overturned the patriarchy and formed a sheep democracy. But, it wasn’t to be. We’re still running the place, reasonably – actually, rather well.

This is my main farm here. I have four vineyards scattered around the area, but this is the main one. And it also houses my sheep. My goats are on another vineyard. I have chickens, and pigs, and a couple of very nice ducks, and a dog who’s fast asleep and snoring out there. Animals are very much a part of my life and obviously, I get to work a lot with sheep in this film. So, it came very naturally to me.

The sheep were trained to some extent, but there’s only so much you can do with sheep; they’re not natural performers [laughs]. You never see a sheep in a circus, for instance, walking high wires or juggling, anything like that. But the sheep are very nice, and the main ram and I became pretty good friends by the time we got to the body of the film.

It was a lot of fun to make. It was a long way from home. We filmed in Western Australia, so that’s a long way from New Zealand. But sheep are sheep pretty much anywhere you go.

I know it had to, so how did your experience with sheep manifest itself on set? Were you kind of like the expert?

Sam Neill: Well, they came with their own woman who was in charge of the sheep. But I would quietly put a word into the director’s ear every once in a while and say, “I don’t know if the sheep are going to like it if you do that. So, let’s just take it easy there.” [laughs]

The sheep were fun, and the people, of course. Michael Caton, who plays my estranged brother, is a very old friend. We worked together first in 1979 – that’s how old we are – and Miranda Richardson, who is my love interest in the film, this is our third or fourth project together, I think? Yeah, some lovely people in it. It was a beautiful part of Australia, and I think it turned out to be a very sort of touching, not a feel-good film, but a feel-better film. You feel better after you’ve seen it.

The highest point of tension in this film is between your character, Colin, and his older brother, Les. Throughout the story, their troubles spike in ferocity and even in violence, and during those scenes, you play Colin with a bit of submission, hinting, in my eyes, to the long history between them. How did you prepare yourself to step into a conflict as established and troubled as Colin’s?

Sam Neill: Yeah, that sort of takes a stretch of the imagination. I was reminded, actually, right where I am now, there’s a big, old farmstead about a mile away. It was originally the big homestead or the big sheep station which would’ve been about 100,000 acres, or something. This land that I’m on now and where I’ve planted these grapes was split off from that some years ago.

Now, in that homestead, there’s this huge Victorian place with servant’s wings and stuff like that. There were two brothers that lived there. This was many years ago, and these two brothers grew to hate each other. They’d inherited the farm, but neither of them would leave despite this enmity between them. And so, they came to a solution. [chuckles]

They bricked up the house into two halves. One lived at one end. One lived at the other. And they never spoke again until they died. They split the farm in half, they wouldn’t leave the house, they wouldn’t give either way, and they never spoke again.

I think Les and Colin haven’t spoken for 40 years or something, which sounds fantastic. It sounds like fiction, but it’s a true story right around the corner from where I am.

You’ve said that your lack of official drama training has allowed you to exhibit and maintain a naturalism over your performances. What in yourself, other than a lack of schooling, do you attribute that naturalism to?

Sam Neill: Look, I’m always slightly self-conscious that I’m not a trained actor. That I sort of learned on the job. I did a lot of theater and so on in my early days, but there was no drama school to go to here. I would’ve liked to have gone to London, to go to RADA [Royal Academy of Dramatic Art], or something like that. And that would’ve taught me some skills that I don’t necessarily have now.

But on the other hand, I sort of came untrammeled to the craft. I’ve just had to work things out for myself, I think. And I’ve also listened and learned to other actors. I’ve worked with so many marvelous people over the years, and I still continue to learn. I think that’s what you need to do, whatever you’re doing, you need to continue to learn. There’s no point in your career where you come to say, “that’s all I need. I know what to do now, and I’m going to just keep doing that.” No, I think the important thing is to keep evolving.

Boy, I think it’s been something like 50 years now since the first time I was on camera – that’s a long time – but I think I’m evolving, and I think, I hope, I’m getting better at what I do.

I saw Sweet Country today, just because I wanted to. And not to say that you weren’t great in Jurassic Park or anything, but you were pretty good in Sweet Country too.

Sam Neill: It’s an interesting picture. It’s very austere and, you know, it’s based on a true story.

No, I did not know that, actually.

Sam Neill: An aboriginal writer – I think it’s the story of his great uncle, a story that also has an aboriginal director. The crew was largely aboriginal. So it was an important story to tell and told in a very, kind of austere way. It seems to me that for a movie with no music at all, it’s told very sparingly and there’s no attempt to manipulate your emotions. It’s quite a bold bit of cinema, and a beautiful film to look at.

You mentioned that the lack of schooling made you self-conscious. At this point in your career, is it still something that gnaws at your head?

Sam Neill: Not self-conscious, really. I’m not self-conscious, but it was probably more to the extent that I didn’t think I had the skills to do theater when I lived in England. It kept me off the stage. But then again, I’m not really interested in going back to the theater, so that doesn’t matter. [laughs]

I did a series in the early 80s called Reilly: Ace of Spies, and in those days in England, there was very little high-level television being done. It was the most prestigious production of that year – I think the year before was Brideshead Revisited – there would always be one big production a year, so to speak. And Reilly was one of those.

So in any given episode, we’d have three or four really good guest stars whose work I was familiar with and who I really admired. And sort of halfway through that series, I realized, “oh, I’m actually on an even footing with these people.” I didn’t think they were any better than me, and I didn’t think I was any better than them. But we’re on an even footing. That was really good for my confidence. I realized I could cut with the best of the British, not to blow my own trumpet.

I heard you speak about the relationship between mental health and art earlier in the pandemic, and you said that crises can be energizing. Of course, you have a great deal to worry about beyond acting when you’re not on a set, but has the isolation and the separation between performance and performer spurred any new thoughts or approaches towards your art?

Sam Neill: One of the casualties – and there have been so many – of COVID has been the impossibility of the performing arts. Because they’re cooperative, you need human contact to perform ballet, or opera, or the theater, or any number of things. And that’s very sad to me, not least because it’s the careers and livelihood of people who make such an enormous contribution to society. I feel incredibly lucky that I was able to go to work last year when so many weren’t.

But I’m also very encouraged by how much stuff I see online of people who’ve invented new things to do. Of course, none of it generates a livelihood, but nevertheless, it’s very hard to keep a creative spirit down. Once we’re through this thing – and I’m optimistic that we will get through this relatively soon, because vaccines will save the world – there will be such a creative outpouring. People are so hungry for live music, and for the feeling of being in an audience, and the wonderful rush of being onstage.

I have to tell you, the first night I came out of quarantine in December in New Zealand, I went to a tribute for an old friend of mine, Ian Mune. And in the course of this, a tenor – his name’s O’Neill actually, a wonderful New Zealand opera singer – came on and sang two arias. I was reduced to tears at the wonderful feeling of sitting beside people watching a live performance, and listening to a singer who was there just for us. I’d forgotten how much I needed that. That’ll be an experience shared by so many at the end of what we’re going through now.

Film Inquiry thanks Sam Neill for his time.

Rams releases from Samuel Goldwyn Films in theaters and on VOD February 5.

Watch Rams