On a drive to lunch one sunny recent afternoon in Glendale, Calif., the comedian and actor Marc Maron was contemplating the term “burnout,” trying it on and inspecting it from different angles, like a new pair of pants he wasn’t sure were to his taste.
Maron had used the word a few times in a June episode of his podcast, “WTF With Marc Maron,” in which he announced that he and his founding producer, Brendan McDonald, would be ending the influential show after 16 years. Many responses to the news had echoed the term (including Howard Stern’s “I was burned out in 1996”) and now Maron seemed to worry that he’d sounded weak, or self-aggrandizing.
“The fact is, we’ve been doing this a long time,” he said, turning the wheel of his tan Toyota Avalon, a graveyard of empty seltzer cans, coffee cups, and Zyn packets. “And now we kind of want to live our lives. That may be burnout, or it may just be the natural course of things.”
This cycle of conjecture and revision — Maron grasping for, and occasionally reaching, some kind of emotional truth — was the essence of “WTF.” Over more than 1,600 episodes, he engaged in raw and personal dialogues with a staggering array of comedians, artists and public figures. Among them were Robin Williams, Lorne Michaels, Louis C.K. and Barack Obama, who became the first sitting president to appear on a podcast when he was a guest in 2015.
Yet some of the show’s indelible moments came from Maron himself. In discursive audio diaries that opened each episode, he exorcised a lifetime of petty and profound demons — including troubles with home repairs, sobriety, cat ownership, anxiety and the sudden death five years ago of his partner, the director Lynn Shelton — long before they could be metabolized into stand-up material.
For the podcast’s final episode, released Monday, Maron, 62, met again with Obama. In a departure from his usual procedure, in which guests are interviewed in the tchotchke-filled garage unit of his suburban home here, they spoke at Obama’s office in Washington D.C.
For Maron, the interview was a fitting capstone — particularly at a time when, he said, “many people live every day on edge and in fear about the future of this country.”
“It’s hard to find a way through, in terms of hope,” Maron added. “So, I went to the hope guy.”
I spoke to Maron twice — in person in August and by video call last Friday — about saying goodbye to what he called “the crown jewel” of his legacy, how he feels about his heirs in podcasting and his plans to direct his first feature film.
These are edited excerpts from the conversations.
Why President Obama for your final guest?
The first time was an important turning point, certainly for me personally. For a sitting president to come to my little garage at my house, it was a big deal. And I think it was a game-changing episode for podcasting in general, in terms of the attention it brought the medium. I was happy to see him again and to talk about the current administration and the world we’re living in now, but also, you know, to honor my show.
Were there any conditions for the interview? Things he wouldn’t discuss?
No. Neither time. There were no conditions, no vetting of questions and no requests for a pre-edit.
How do you think it went?
The last time, there was a motorcade and Secret Service and many staff involved — and he was still disarming and grounded and present. This time, it was more casual — just me and him in his office — so I knew it would be even better and that turned out to be true. He was very aware that he was our last guest and that our last episode meant something, to me and culturally.
How does it feel to be officially done with the show?
Well, I guess it’s real now. We’ve certainly had a big enough runway up to this. And I’ve had time to sort of adjust and adapt. But it’s going to be an interesting time, in terms of decompression and getting out of the habit. To me it’s an opportunity to kind of be like, you know, Who am I? What do I do with this mental and emotional and creative time? So, I feel OK about it. It’s sad, but I don’t feel any regrets.
How has the outpouring of responses been sitting with you?
Hearing from the fans has been very moving for me. There’s a part of me that feels a responsibility to these listeners. I get all kinds of emails, stuff that I would never have expected, from people who I helped to get sober, who I helped pull off the ledge of depression, or people who are just sensitive and like-minded and appreciate hearing me work through being in the world. They live in my head, as well. So it makes me sad that they are not going to have this anymore.
Are there things that you feel disappointment over, that you weren’t able to accomplish? I’ve heard you talk about being upset that you never won a Peabody Award.
The Peabody — I thought that, out of all of them, we deserved that. I got it in my mind that it has some integrity within the world of journalism and artists. I used to think it was because we cuss, or because of the name of the show, but then Amy Schumer won one. The truth is, it could just come down to one person not liking it, for whatever reason. You grow to learn that none of this stuff is a meritocracy.
You’ve also had some words lately for Dax Shephard, the actor and host of “Armchair Expert.” You essentially accused him of aping your show.
That was half a joke. Look, I didn’t invent interviewing, but I do think I helped create the space for intimate interviews of a certain type. It just feels like he kind of modeled his method after me a bit. If somebody capitalizes on something that you do, and then they go on to make a lot of money, there’s a point where you’re sort of like, “All right.” But, you know, you can’t carry that [expletive]. After a certain age, what the hell good is it going to do to be resentful of that?
White guy comics with podcasts have become remarkably influential, with people like Joe Rogan, Theo Von and Andrew Schulz interviewing then-candidate Donald Trump during the 2024 campaign. You’ve joked that you feel like you “released the kraken.” Where do you think things stand now?
These guys have proven that their fan bases can be tribalized into something that I think is fundamentally dangerous. It’s still within the parameters of free speech — you can do whatever you want. And if you want to be used by the dominating propaganda arm of a fascistic momentum against democracy, well, I hope you’re happy with your show.
You’re working on developing a feature film to direct, based on the novel “No One Left to Come Looking for You” by Sam Lipsyte, a friend of yours. What about directing appeals to you?
There are things that you see yourself doing when you’re younger, and, as a film nerd of sorts, directing a movie is something I’ve always wanted to do. The book is very funny and specific and it takes place in a world that [Lipsyte and I] spent time in: New York City in the early-to-mid ’90s on the Lower East Side. I related to the spirit of the young characters — they’re sort of realizing that there’s a big world out there, and it’s not great.
You started the podcast in your late 40s and have talked about feeling like success found you late in life. Do you think it came too late?
No. If you’re honest with yourself, I think a lot of times success didn’t come because you weren’t ready for it. When I auditioned for “Saturday Night Live” [in 1995], I wasn’t ready for that. By the time the podcast started, I’d let go of all the other dreams, but when they started to happen, I felt like, “OK, I’m ready for it now.” I could show up and do the work in a way that I wouldn’t have been able to previously. I’m not mad that my success came when it did. I’m just glad that it came, because it would have been a much sadder life if it hadn’t.