A Film that Changes Your Life? Actually, This One Could Change Your Death.
Can death be uplifting? Or even ecstatic? One man thought so — and insisted that cameras capture his death. The result is a film you’ll never forget.
Have you thought about your own death today? Probably not — it’s a topic that, in Western cultures at least, it feels like we’re allergic to. For many of us, we avoid it out of fear. It’s much less confronting to carry on our lives without really giving our death a second thought.
But isn’t that a bit odd? After all, our own death is [checks notes] DEFINITELY something that’s GOING TO HAPPEN TO US. Shouldn’t we embrace it? Or at the very least, plan a little better for it?
The Last Ecstatic Days is a powerful film from the US that totally reframes how we think about the process of death, and what that can mean for our daily lives. As the quote from global spiritual leader and peace activist Thich Nhat Hanh states at the very start of the film, “If one doesn’t know how to die, one can hardly know how to live — because death is a part of life.”
What is The Last Ecstatic Days about?
Directed by Seattle-based filmmaker Scott Kirschenbaum, The Last Ecstatic Days is a uniquely intimate portrait of a man’s spirit and courage. At just 36 years old, Ethan Sisser has Glioblastoma — terminal brain cancer — and faces a choice. Does he simply fade away, hooked to machines, as his body steadily shuts down? Or could he die differently, and give hope to thousands around the world?
We first meet Ethan through his social posts and live videos, where he streams his cancer journey online to a growing legion of fans who are empowered by his attitude. Ethan’s joyous and cheeky — you can’t help but like him immediately. He’s got no hesitation in showing his audience the results of his brain surgery, and the huge scoop-shape that’s been taken from his skull (even joking “I’ve got my abdomen on my head” as he points to his skin graft).
It’s obvious Ethan has a wholly different outlook on life… and death. His mantra is “I am embodied, I am empowered, I am ecstatic” — which gives him his nickname, “E3”. He repeats it while streaming online and vlogging on his phone; even in the back of an ambulance as he’s being rushed to hospital after a stroke. But in hospice care, his empowerment is taken away.
Ethan wants to document his death in a wider way than just streaming. He wants Kirschenbaum’s cameras to record his “last ecstatic days”, to share his journey — as a record for others to see that dying isn’t something to fear. “We all leave the body,” Ethan points out, “so why not do it in the most beautiful way possible?”
Despite his dying wish, the hospice won’t allow any filming to take place. So Ethan chooses to leave the medical environment entirely, and be transported to a friend’s home in the heart of the idyllic Blue Ridge Mountains in Asheville, North Carolina. What Kirschenbaum captures there is a rare glimpse of a vibrant spirit leaving the body, and a community drawing together to ease Ethan’s transition from life to death.
How does The Last Ecstatic Days challenge our assumptions about death?
Ethan’s bed is placed in his friend Nate’s living room, facing the stunning mountain range. It’s the last view he’ll ever see, but even this wasn’t easy to arrange. One of the strongest themes early in the film is the pushback Ethan gets to his desire to live his final days outside of a medical care environment — to his frustration, even his own Mum has her doubts about his choice to leave the hospice.
Ethan records a conversation on his phone, where we hear the struggle he has convincing the hospice staff that he has the right to choose NOT to stay. It shows just how embedded our assumptions are about the process of dying — that we “don’t have a choice” about where we die. The usual thinking seems to be, If you’re sick, you go to hospital. If you’re terminally ill, you go to hospital and don’t come out.
But like we said, Ethan really doesn’t think the usual way. As he contemplates his final weeks, he questions his sense of completion of his life. “Is it complete?” he asks on camera. “What’s not complete? In some ways, everything… but it’s pretty complete.” Anyone in his position could be forgiven for being furiously bitter about their life ending at 36 — losing the chance to become a father, or enjoy a fulfilling career, or see his parents enjoy their twilight years. But it’s clear this guy is built different.
His attitude to his terminal illness is a fairly wondrous thing (we only see him cry once in the whole film). In one piece to camera, Ethan says “I’ll probably be leaving this body pretty soon.” That’s a continuous theme too, the way he frames his death as something that’s happening to his body, but not necessarily to HIM. His brain has cancer, and his body is dying, but he’s just simply leaving as a result. That’s quite starkly different to the fear that many of us feel about the dying process.
The Last Ecstatic Days acknowledges that it’s natural for us to have a fear of leaving the body. It’s the only one we’ve got. And when we “leave”, well — what then? Ethan’s outlook is to “move through the fear” — something his training as a massage teacher and yogi (which we see in flashback clips) has opened him up to.
It’s not the kind of advice we’d necessarily get on a hospital ward, and that’s exactly the point. Ethan’s choice is about reclaiming his death; from something “medical” to an experience that’s wholly personal. As Ethan’s told by a medicinal elder who visits his bedside, “I see death as a door that is open. When the door is open, what prevents us from moving from here to there? Nothing.”
How does The Last Ecstatic Days explore the physical side of death?
Those flashbacks to Ethan’s former life as a masseuse and yoga instructor are startling, because the way his body looks, and the confidence it gives him, is such a contrast to how he appears in the film. In five year old clips of Ethan belly dancing, stretching and teaching yoga, Ethan has incredible strength and flexibility. To put it bluntly, he’s ripped.
Cut to today, and he’s bedbound, with sunken cheeks and eye sockets, and the vulnerability of wearing adult diapers (at one point, he jokes “no other film has as much footage of someone accidentally urinating”). It’s obvious that Ethan was, and is, someone who’s super connected to their body — and it’s fascinating how this gels with his spirited outlook as his body breaks down on him.
“Could death be fun?” Ethan ponders aloud. “That could be the most exciting journey ever — leaving the body. Talk about a psychedelic experience. Maybe it’s gonna be the best experience of my life?” It’s interesting to compare this with the insight from Ethan’s death doula, Dr. Aditi Sethi, who says “I find that people who accept what’s happening to their body, and don’t resist it — their dying processes are generally smoother and easier.”
Physical touch is something that director Scott Kirschenbaum focuses on closely throughout The Last Ecstatic Days. Ethan’s friends press their palms and hands to his chest. He asks his Mum to drape his paralysed arm across her back, in a version of a hug. A visiting healer places her head gently on his, and her fingers gently on his temples. There’s a very calm and very soft energy to these scenes. “The body’s instinct to be here is so strong,” Aditi whispers.
Soon, she explains to Ethan that his body is giving them signs that it’s not safe for him to eat, because he can no longer swallow. Kirschenbaum then chooses to section the remainder of the film with intertitles, simple white on black text explaining how long Ethan has gone without sustenance: “6 days without food or water… 8 days without food or water… 10 days without food or water.”
It’s intended to rattle us out of our comfort zone. Think about the last time you skipped even a single meal…? Now imagine skipping 30. By the time Ethan reaches 14 days without water or food of any kind (only a small, damp sponge is gently dabbed inside his mouth to keep it moist), Aditi explains to camera that Ethan is “already experiencing a consciousness outside of time.” He’s dying, as he — and we — always knew he would.
What does The Last Ecstatic Days have to say about the importance of community?
Let’s be real: death is awkward. Confronted with a dying person, many of us don’t really know what to say or do. What the film unpacks so well is how a warm, communal sense can grow between friends and family (and even strangers) if we’re given the space and grace to get over that hump. As Aditi Sethi describes it, Ethan’s bedside in the Blue Ridge Mountains soon gets cloaked in “a widespread net of love and community and spirit that is just so beautiful.”
Over the course of weeks, The Last Ecstatic Days captures the range of ways that Ethan’s “communal net” share their support for him at his bedside. Some arrive and play music, choosing to fill the space with sound. Others simply sit in silence. His sister calls with emotion in her voice and sings a song from their childhood. Later, a Rabbi sings a prayer song (Ethan’s family are Jewish-Americans). Aditi even chants a “death conquering mantra” which she explains is to “support Ethan as he transitions from his body, whenever the time is right.”
Kirschenbaum and his cameras capture the deep meaning these visits bring to Ethan — he says “it’s like a housewarming party!” — without passing judgement on whether these actions are the “right” or “wrong” way to react to death. Instead, he includes short grabs from Ethan’s family, as a kind of contrast between the “traditional” approach and Ethan’s choice. His older brother admits “we don’t have a way to guide Ethan through something like this,” while his mother asks, impossibly, “How do you deal with the loss of your child?”
What they’re saying implies that they weren’t equipped to support Ethan’s death alone. If Ethan hadn’t insisted on leaving a traditional, medical modality to die in a communal setting, they’d likely be visiting him each day in a sterile hospice, watching him slowly fade, like thousands of other families. It also speaks to a wider sense, in Western culture, of our lack of ritual around the actual instance of our death. It’s viewed as a “medical event” — but why? The Last Ecstatic Days dissolves that view.
One powerful moment comes when Aditi arranges for both of Ethan’s parents, who have long been separated, to visit him at the same time. On either side of his bed, they lay their hands on top of each other’s, and place them on top of their son’s. “That’s perhaps the first time they’ve touched in years,” says Scott Kirschenbaum, “and they held each other’s hands while he shared his final words: “What if the next practice is to just be present and let go?””
Near the beginning of The Last Ecstatic Days, Ethan ponders “Does dying have to be a solitary process? Can it be a communal process?” The film he leaves behind proves beyond doubt that it can. He called for a family to show up, and they did. And if Ethan’s parting goal was to help those who connected with him to free themselves from a kind of fear, he achieved it. Kirschenbaum reinforces this with a laptop positioned at Ethan’s bedside. As it streams his final night to the world, the comments flooding in begin to appear on screen:
“You helped me with my depression…”
“You made community from love…”
“You taught me what it means to be ecstatic…”
“You saved my life.”
So what’s the takeaway from The Last Ecstatic Days?
There’s a strong sense through The Last Ecstatic Days that Ethan Sisser — the man, the son, the friend, the yogi — is also a bit of a magician. He radiates the kind of charm that leaves an impression on people. As his mate Nate says with a grin, “I’ve never met such an alchemist.” In other words, someone who takes something worthless and gives it value.
Ethan’s valuable gift is allowing us into a process that’s normally hidden from us (until it happens to someone we love). Ethan could’ve died quietly in private — but then we’d never have had the chance to experience his final days. While confronting, it’s also a privilege to witness something so personal. It affords us the opportunity to ask ourselves: given the choice, how would we want our OWN death to play out?
The film recognises that much of Western civilisation, while medically advanced, isn’t exactly at the forefront of spiritual consciousness. Ethan’s “journey” into death gives us a fresh look at an entirely natural process — one we’ve normalised as something that happens in hospitals. As Ethan explains to his Dad, Phil, who seems unsure about his son’s choice to unhook himself from medical care: “In some cultures they have a rite of passage. We don’t have one in quite the same sense… so now we have the opportunity to have our own unique rite of passage.”
It seems obvious that Ethan “E3” Sisser touched a lot of people in his lifetime — some in person, thousands more online, and some through this film. One of his strongest connections was undoubtedly with Dr. Aditi Sethi, Ethan’s hospice doctor who became his death doula. She’s there in the final images we see of Ethan, as his body is lovingly covered in flowers and carried outdoors by the community who drew together for his last ecstatic days. Her tears aren’t sadness at Ethan dying, she tells us, as she smiles and lifts her fist to the sky. “Just gratitude.”
Originally published at https://good.film.
