The totality of death can be so overwhelming that, when people face it directly, it becomes hard to grasp in its entirety. They often do not fixate on the obvious, overwhelming totality of someone’s human existence ceasing to be. Instead, it’s the small indignities of life that stick in people’s craw and gnaw away at them.

That’s the case for Marc Maron’s Langston Stanfield, the protagonist of Rob Burnett’s “In Memoriam.” When the film picks up with his story on the set of a crappy TV police procedural, this sellout actor has traded away most of his artistic integrity and personal relationships in pursuit of elusive career highs. As if staring down his sixties was not scary enough, Langston gets hit with an unexpected terminal cancer diagnosis and learns he has six months to live.

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Faced with his own mortality, Langston’s immediate reaction remains in keeping with his vanity. He poses a question that at first seems so silly and superficial: “When I die, will I make it into the In Memoriam montage at the Oscars?” It’s exactly the type of distraction that people need to avoid facing the grim reality of their pending passing. Homing in on one discrete portion of a tragedy makes it somehow more manageable.

What initially seems like a silly, throwaway rumination becomes a fixation that dominates his final stretch on earth. It soon becomes clear that Langston’s obsessive quest to ensure he gets a coveted spot on the Oscar telecast becomes the dominant throughline of “In Memoriam” as a film. Burnett and Maron commit to the bit and see this journey through, seeing each step along the way as equal parts poignant and pathetic.

Paradoxically, Langston’s quest for the most superficial and fleeting monument to his life and work – that he won’t even be alive to see! – ends up reshaping him and creating pathways to reconnect with other people. He begins to open up to his therapist, the stern yet sensitive Samantha (Lily Gladstone), with real vulnerability. He makes contact with his unknown daughter, Maura (Talia Ryder), and begins to bond with her over a shared passion for acting. He tries, sarcastically but sincerely, to offer the slightest gesture of making amends with ex-wives (Judy Greer and Sharon Stone), even when his main ask is self-serving in nature.

Much like the award show around which the film’s intrigue orbits, “In Memoriam” gets a bit overstuffed and exorbitantly long as it charts Langston’s last chapter redemption arc. Burnett allows ample space for these relationships to develop, which results in many touching moments of disarming candor. The talented supporting cast demonstrates that they can do a lot with a little, turning boilerplate dialogue into scenes with weighty, revelatory impact. And Maron, for his part, makes a meal of what he’s been given in an affectingly open-hearted turn.

But all this time spent dwelling in intimate interrelations holds “In Memoriam” back from embracing its truest strength as a satire. Burnett, who honed his chops as a head writer for “The Late Show with David Letterman,” sees through the inanity of the entertainment business with stark clarity. That knowledge allows him to name and shame the cottage industry of publicists, consultants, and other executives who exploit the insecurities of actors to siphon away money on something as ludicrous as getting into the “In Memoriam” segment.

A fascinating tension plays out in Burnett’s film as these two trajectories diverge. Langston grows more uncharacteristically earnest and emotional in a personal capacity. Yet the circus orchestrated by Langston’s manager (Michael McKean) in a PR push to get Langston in the “In Memoriam” – while the man is still alive – becomes increasingly absurd. It’s as if Judd Apatow’s similarly death-driven dramedy “Funny People” and an episode of “The Studio” are vying for dominance over what this movie really is.

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What’s definitive about “In Memoriam” is that Burnett ends up making something Brooksian in nature. The problem is that the Brooks he channels most is James L. Brooks (albeit closer to his glory days with “Terms of Endearment” than a misfire like “Ella McCay”). His story, however, is at its best when channeling the parodic brilliance of Mel Brooks. There’s a great evisceration of Hollywood in here that gets a bit too buried until sentimental schmaltz. [B]

“In Memoriam” premiered at the 2026 Tribeca Festival.

Marshall Shaffer is a freelance film critic and journalist based in New York. In addition to The Playlist, his byline can be found at sites including Slant Magazine, Decider, Crooked Marquee, and Men’s Health. He is a member of the Critics Choice Association and New York Film Critics Online.