Saved by the movie man in the velvet coat

There was not much to do in Hokitika, New Zealand, on a rainy Saturday evening in winter. You might admire the new Vice-Grip pliers you purchased that morning (most everything but the Tea Room shuts in the afternoon), but even for a west coast South Island town, the options were limited.

The options for my daughter and me expanded delightfully upon a chance encounter with a local during a break in the rain.

Luke Wagoner, framed in an open yellow-and-red art deco doorway, cut a dashing and exotic figure in a crushed-velvet smoking jacket and the style of beard fashionable in the 19th century. He was airing out his "cinema" and preparing for his evening's roles there as ticket taker, concessionaire, bartender, projectionist, host and owner.

From the outside, The Crooked Mile Talking Pictures looked like what it once was: a rural bank; an unremarkable two-storey cube located on the quiet - even for Hokitika - end of the long, doglegged main street. The theatre specialized in New Zealand and art-house films and was as far from the sticky-floored HumungoPlex experience as is imaginable.

Wagoner invited us in. The evening's film would soon be starting, but there was no rush: We were the only patrons. Eventually the "crowd" swelled to seven.

Seating was three rows of mismatched sofas and armchairs on risers. They were made homier by rainbow-coloured Afghan throw rugs and a motley assortment of pillows. The high ceiling was pressed tin, the walls mustard-coloured and adorned with hangings and gold leaf, the windows and the screen curtained in heavy red-velvet drapes. But it was chilly inside so we kept our coats on.

Wagoner owns the place and lives above the vault in the former bank manager's suite. He took our entry fee (about $8.50) and smiled proudly in the lamplight from behind an old oak concession counter that served as a bar. Yes, bar. We couldn't get popcorn, licorice, nachos or bucket-sized soft drinks, but we could get a glass of beer or wine.

Wagoner poured me a generous glass of a wonderful local white wine. My daughter and I split a slab of locally made organic chocolate as he told us a little about the place. He needed only four customers to make a go of it each evening. Digital is the cost-cutting key. A former projectionist, now he just slips in a DVD.

"Four customers is fine," he said, speaking quietly, almost shyly. "But more is better and we are fire-rated for 80." He judges success more by laid-back community standards. "People seem very happy to have it ...," he said, stopping to greet incoming patrons by name. The place does get crowded and hopping during occasional music events, which Wagoner also promotes.

The film was enjoyable, but it was the ambience that made the evening unique and memorable. Dad and daughter sunk into a big comfy leather couch, cozy under a large, handmade afghan as if we were at home in a rec room. We drank in the atmosphere (and more wine), nibbled chocolate and listened to the rain pelt against the frame walls.

The movie was long, but not long enough. At the conclusion, we said our goodbyes. We exited into the rain, knowing we would never see a film again in a theatre like The Crooked Mile Talking Pictures.

Article reproduced with kind permission from author Anthony Jenkins of The Globe and Mail, Canada.