The legacy one leaves behind is a thought that crosses most minds at least once, especially for creatives. Will the art you’ve made be cherished or even remembered after you’re gone? In the film industry, each year we crowd around the television to watch the Academy Awards. At some point during the ceremony, an artist approaches a microphone to perform a song while a screen cycles through a slideshow of images of those the industry lost that year. Unfortunately, there isn’t always enough time to mention everyone, so someone is always left out. How would you feel if you knew, ahead of time, that someone would be you? This sets the stage for Rob Burnett’s tenderhearted dramedy, In Memoriam, a film that reminds us that it’s never too late to leave a lasting impression on those who matter most.
Actor Langston Stanfield (Marc Maron) is a 60-year-old celebrity cliché: vain, shallow, with several ex-wives, and a nonexistent relationship with the daughter he’s never even met. Then, out of the blue, a diagnosis: six months to live. Most people, faced with news like this, start thinking about who they need to call. The apologies. The “I love yous” they’ve been sitting on. But Langston only has one question on his mind: “When I die, will I be included in the Academy Awards’ In Memoriam montage?” This singular goal consumes him as he sets out on a mission he hopes will land him a spot in the slideshow. To pull it off, he barrels straight into the wreckage of his selfishness and stares down a lifetime of failures. With the help of his longtime friend and manager Walter Zith (Michael McKean), therapist Samantha (Lily Gladstone), two ex-wives (Judy Greer and Sharon Stone), and daughter Maura (Talia Ryder), he has to figure out not just how he wants to be remembered, but whose memory of him actually matters.
What could’ve easily been pure comedy is peppered with moments that’ll resonate with audiences, even if they can’t fully connect with what it’s like to be an actor. Writer-director Rob Burnett understands the ebb and flow and ensures a balance that will have people laughing one moment and rethinking their own life choices the next. The desire to be remembered is universal. Being held in someone’s thoughts makes you symbolically immortal. Films like this cause people to think about their own mortality, reevaluate how they spend their moments, and inspire them to course-correct.
In Memoriam works well not only on premise alone, but also in casting. Maron leads the ensemble with ease, delivering one of his best performances to date. His portrayal of Langston makes for an endearing jerk. He’s not an overtly nasty individual, but he’s left a wake of rubble from past experiences that make his goal of landing a spot in the remembrance slideshow an even bigger feat. It wouldn’t be a surprise to discover that Maron might’ve thought about this very scenario in his real life. His authenticity in wanting to be remembered, to prove that he was noticed in the first place, makes you invest in his plight, hoping he can have it all: the memorial spot and the relationship with his daughter. But it comes down to which one he should want more. What actually matters most? Is it selfish to want to make your mark on the world? Outside of pissing off the person in charge of that segment of the awards show, he’s also never established a relationship with his only daughter, Maura.
Ryder and Maron have excellent chemistry that warms as the film moves on. Ryder sells the excitement a child would feel at the opportunity to finally connect with a parent she’s longed to know. Maura watched Langston on television and was never able to access him. Now the chance has arrived, and any frustration from his absence evaporates at the prospect of spending time with him. And while Langston enjoys spending time with her, too, he can’t take his eye off the prize.
In Memoriam starts as a clever comedy and evolves into a deeper examination of mortality, why legacy matters, and what that looks like. It’s a surprising film that reminds us it’s never too late to alter how we live, so we’re not just remembered, but a cherished memory when we die.
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