In Spite Of Myself A Memoir Christopher Plummer

Reading Christopher Plummer's Memoir: What You Actually Get

I've read a lot of actor autobiographies over the years, and most of them follow the same pattern: early struggles, breakthrough moment, fame, problems, resolution. The problem with that formula is that it flattens whatever made the person interesting in the first place. I picked up In Spite Of Myself A Memoir Christopher Plummer expecting another hollow showbiz puff piece. Instead I got something considerably more useful. Plummer writes like a person who has spent his life performing and is now done with performance. The prose is clear, sometimes dry, occasionally funny without trying to be. He doesn't romanticize the craft or the industry. He tells you what happened and how he felt about it, usually in the same sentence. That efficiency is what makes the book work.

In Spite Of Myself A Memoir Christopher Plummer

The book covers roughly the first seventy-five years of his life, from his upbringing in Canada through his early stage work in London, his breakthrough in American theatre, his film career spanning from 1965's The Sound of Music to his later work, and his personal life along the way. He writes about his marriages, his relationships with his children, his time studying at the Old Vic, and his long engagement with British and Canadian theatre. There are chapters on working with directors like George Cukor and Mike Nichols, and chapters on the odd roles he took that people tend to forget. One thing most reviews miss is how honest Plummer is about his own limitations. He doesn't pretend every role was a triumph. He talks about productions that fell apart, parts he wasn't right for, and films where his contribution amounted to showing up on time. That honesty gives the rest of the book more weight. When he does write about a role that mattered, you believe him. I ran into a specific issue when trying to get a copy of this book through certain online retailers. The ISBN for the hardcover edition is 978-0743278092 and the paperback is 978-0743278108, but several major sellers list the wrong ISBN on their product pages. I had to cross-reference the cover image and publisher information before committing to an order. This seems to be a recurring problem with this title across multiple platforms. The workaround is straightforward: verify the ISBN-13 on Amazon or Books-A-Million rather than trusting the listing title alone, since "Christopher Plummer memoir" pulls up a lot of similar results from various publishers and print runs.

There are also a few audiobook editions floating around with inconsistent narrator choices. The original Random House Audio version is narrated by Plummer himself, which sounds flat in places because reading your own life story with a flat affect is not the same as performing it. The Knopf Audio edition has a different narrator and is generally more engaging if you prefer listening. I'd recommend checking both before buying if audio is your main format. What people often don't realize about this book is how little attention Plummer gives to the Hollywood machinery. He mentions money, contracts, and power players only when they directly affected a production he was working on. He doesn't write about studio politics the way some actors do. This can feel like an omission to readers who want scandal. But it's also why the book doesn't read like gossip. It reads like a working biography written by someone who cared more about the work than the narrative around the work. The section on his time at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London is worth special mention. He describes the training process with enough detail that drama students could actually use it. Not as a blueprint, but as a realistic picture of what that kind of program demands. The exercises, the criticism, the repetition. He doesn't glamorize it. He just reports what happened.

There are weaknesses in the structure. The middle section drags slightly, covering years between his London success and his American breakthrough without much narrative drive. Plummer himself seemed aware of this, because he compresses those years into fewer pages than his earlier or later periods. Some readers may find the pacing uneven. I did, but it didn't ruin the book for me. Another thing to note: Plummer was not especially sentimental about Canada or theatre in the way you might expect from a Canadian stage actor. He wrote about both with affection but without nostalgia. That stance works well in the book and doesn't create any false sentiment where none existed. It also means some readers looking for patriotic pride or theatre romanticism will be disappointed. If you're approaching this for research purposes rather than casual reading, focus on the chapters covering his Old Vic period and his early film work. Those sections contain the most specific technical detail about rehearsal process, staging choices, and his approach to different types of material. The later chapters are more reflective and less practical.

I also want to flag a quirk in how this book is catalogued across different systems. Libraries sometimes shelve it under "Performing Arts" while bookstores put it in "Biography" or "Entertainment." If you're ordering from a bookstore and looking for it, search by Plummer's last name rather than browsing the general biography section. The categorization varies enough that you might miss it either way. The book is roughly three hundred pages in the standard hardcover edition. At a comfortable reading pace, it takes about six to eight hours to get through. Most of that time is spent on the first two thirds. The final third moves slower, which is natural for a memoir reaching toward the present. I found myself slowing down deliberately in those later chapters, which isn't always a bad thing. The earlier material is more event-driven. The later material is more reflective, and it's easier to absorb in smaller sessions rather than binge. Plummer passed away in February 2021. The book came out in 2009, so it doesn't cover his final decades in any detail. Readers who want to know about his later career will need to supplement this with interviews and other sources. The book ends while he was still actively working, which is both a strength and a limitation depending on what you're looking for.

There's also a 2012 updated edition that includes a brief afterword. The afterword adds maybe twenty pages of content and touches on work he'd done since the original publication. It's not essential, but it's not irrelevant either. If you're buying a used copy, check which edition you're getting. The pagination differs slightly between the 2009 and 2012 versions, which can matter if you're citing specific passages. Overall, In Spite Of Myself is a solid entry in the actor memoir genre precisely because it doesn't try to be something it's not. It's a record of a working life written by someone who wasn't particularly interested in mythmaking. That restraint is the book's main virtue and also its main limitation. If you want insider drama, look elsewhere. If you want a clear-eyed account of what theatre and film work actually looked like for someone in the middle of a long career, this is one of the better options available.