The beloved actor Sam Neill, who died this week aged 78, will return to the screen a few more times, posthumously gracing us with his presence in three films that say a lot about the kind of actor he was, and the sort of reputation he carved out.

They could hardly be more different: a wacked-out Australian comedy in which he provides the voice of a sweary magpie (The Fox); a romcom set in the Philippines (The Last Resort); and the next instalment in a blockbuster Hollywood franchise about giant mutant stampeding monsters (Godzilla x Kong: Supernova).

Their differences speak volumes about Neill’s range and inability to be pigeonholed. Most actors carve out a niche by embracing some kind of shtick or signature style: perhaps they’re badass action heroes, romantic heart-throbs, reliable dramatic leads or larger-than-life villains.

Neill was all and none of these things, spectacularly breaking free of labels and boxes, and leaving a powerful impression that he was open to all sorts of challenges.

This same spirit was also echoed in his life outside the movie industry – including founding a winery, Two Paddocks, and his longtime work as an environmentalist campaigning for causes including marine conservation.

In another reality, Neill might have been remembered as a terrific character actor, bringing depth and gravitas to a huge range of supporting performances. Where to begin?

There’s his irresistibly crotchety old grump Hector, the foster uncle of a cheeky delinquent, Ricky Baker (Julian Dennison), in Hunt for the Wilderpeople. There’s the suave and mannered Harry Beecham, trying to take the protagonist’s hand in marriage in My Brilliant Career. There’s his “mess with the bull, get the horns” tough cop Chester Camper in Peaky Blinders, who got right up in the craw of Cillian Murphy’s gangster, Tommy Shelby. There’s his warm, avuncular portrayal of the observatory director Cliff Buxton in The Dish … to name only a few.

But Neill could also provide one hell of a leading performance, with his ability to imbue lead roles with unexpected flair and eccentricity bringing to mind that old Tinsel Town phrase: “A character actor in a leading man’s body.”

One of his most entertaining lead roles was in Merlin, an energetically staged two-part series starring Neill as the Arthurian wizard, which perhaps isn’t especially well remembered these days but was a big deal when it arrived in 1998, costing a reported budget of about US$30m (a massive amount for TV productions at the time). Neill was a sexy and spunky wizard – no surprises there – though he also brought a surprising amount of dramatic weight.

In my opinion, his greatest performance was in John Carpenter’s long under-rated Lovecraftian horror movie In the Mouth of Madness, playing a cynical insurance investigator whose search for a missing bestselling author leads him to a super creepy, off-the-map small town, where reality collapses into a nightmare. Neill begins the film in a straitjacket, screaming “I’m not insane!” but looking and sounding totally, well, insane, with wild beady eyes and manic energy.

Not many actors could pull off this kind of cranked-to-11 performance, keeping the film grounded in human terms while all manner of crazy chaos swirls around him (for another example of Neill at his balls-to-the-wall best, consult the astonishingly weird Possession).

Just one year before that film was released, Neill delivered a completely different performance, this one seen by pretty much anybody who has ever watched a movie: his role as a palaeontologist, Dr Alan Grant, in Jurassic Park. Grant – who features in one of the most iconic moments in blockbuster movie history – is sensible and pragmatic but also has a bit of edge to him, some grit and drive. He graduated to leading man status in Jurassic Park 3, which isn’t great – but Neill made a seamless transition from relatively minor to very much major player.

To say the man had range and versatility is an epic understatement: he had the charisma to carry blockbusters and the chutzpah to go completely off the rails in wild and weird productions. He leaves behind a terrifically eclectic oeuvre. And we’ll miss him.