Remembering Christopher Plummer
While heading a Canadian company that produced recorded tours for exhibitions at museums, I worked with actor Christopher Plummer, who narrated exhibition tours of Picasso at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts in 1985, Ramses the Great at Expo 86 in Vancouver, and the Barnes at the Art Gallery of Ontario in 1994.
We had great conversations about movies (never mention “The Sound of Music”), family (never mention his daughter Amanda) and our shared love of dogs (always ask about his many pups).
Audio-guide recordings were usually straightforward, but Expo 86 posed special challenges. The pavilion housing the show had been constructed without a lobby, with no space to rent or distribute the cassette players to the public. I proposed that we sell the tours outside, as visitors lined up to enter.
It was an immediate solution, and a daunting one.
Expo was to open in just weeks, and I had no way to promote the audio guides outside the building with impatient visitors. With limited time and budget, I needed star power — someone with a recognizable name and face to narrate the tour. And we needed to record within days.
Fortunately, I had worked with Christopher Plummer. He had an extraordinary voice, impeccable skill and would look fantastic on a poster. If he was available and would agree.
Calling his Connecticut home on Friday, I learned that he was in L.A., about to shoot a film on Tuesday. I was sure I wouldn’t hear from him. Miraculously, on Saturday morning, my daughter picked up the phone. “Mom, it’s some guy named Chris!”
“Chris” could record, but only had two hours early on Monday morning. No problem, I said, I’ll courier you the script and will reserve the studio. He asked to have a car sent to his hotel.
It was the olden days, before banks opened on weekends. I had exactly one American dollar in my travel wallet. I knew nothing about L.A. My colleague Jaye had just moved there, and agreed to find a studio for our recording and book Mr. Plummer’s limo.
I arrived in L.A. late Sunday evening. Jaye’s husband had kindly prepared a map for our drive to the studio, which had reserved a tight but workable time. We left the house early, but my heart sank when Jaye cheerfully informed me that her just-cleaned van would be Plummer’s “limo.” I hoped he had a sense of humour.
Meeting him in the hotel lobby, I said with all the charm I could muster: “I don’t know van etiquette. Would you prefer to sit in the front or in the back seat?” He almost smiled, took a noblesse oblige attitude and graciously assented to sit in the back.
It got worse. Our hastily drawn map did not include a studio name or building address. While Jaye called for those important details, I cheerfully offered to buy Plummer a coffee. The sweat was beginning to trickle down my chest, but my smile was in place.
Fortunately, a nearby restaurant charged me exactly one American dollar for coffee.
When the restaurant requested that he put out his cigar, he snapped it in half. Ever intuitive, I sensed he was getting a bit peeved, and probably wondering why he’d agreed to work with this cheery incompetent.
Meanwhile, Jaye had found the studio, but it was designed for musicians, not for voice-overs. No problem, I said, with my now signature fake smile, stacking phone books on an end table to make it the right height for Plummer to read from.
We’d now lost 45 minutes and doubtless some credibility with our star. Though clearly skeptical, Plummer read the script beautifully. It’s likely he’d never been paid with a personal cheque written on the side of a van, but the morning ended on an upbeat note. Not surprisingly, he called a cab to avoid a second ride in our “limo.”
The recorded tour of Ramses the Great was a great success, thanks to a gentleman and a pro: Christopher Plummer.
He even agreed to work with me again, eight years later, narrating the AGO’s Barnes exhibition. It was gratifyingly uncomplicated, and Plummer’s wonderful voice again guided thousands of appreciative visitors.
Judith John engagement and marketing for
Governors.