Out of the pictures

Forty years ago, the curtain went up for the first screening at the newly-opened Geraldine Cinema. Features editor Claire Allison talks to Barry McLauchlan about his time in the movie business.

The old man wasn't optimistic. Walking past as Barry McLauchlan stuck up posters to announce the first screening at the newly-opened Geraldine Cinema, he dourly predicted the venture would last three weeks.

Forty years later, Barry has pulled the curtain for the last time.

But the cinema remains open – handed on to local couple Deirdre and Calvin McKechnie, formerly among Barry's best customers.

"I got the vibes that they would just love to carry on the theatre. I'm really fortunate, because that's made it a lot easier for me."

But the cinema is very much a part of Barry's life still – his Timaru home has paintings of the recognisable Geraldine building, he was given a model railway version as a keepsake, a scrapbook awaits the newspaper clippings that covered the cinema's life.

It could be a sad time, but it's the right time for Barry and Anthea McLauchlan.

Handing over the cinema to the McKechnies means they will have more time for their other love – family.

There are grandchildren who are growing up fast.

"I'm at the stage where I'm sailing away from it, really."

Barry's love of the theatre began at an early age. His father Lyall managed Timaru's State Theatre (now Central Mall) for 30 years.

Not to be outdone, in 1957 Timaru Boys' High School student Barry and a few mates set up their own. The Filmland Movie Club had its origins in a modest home in St George St. Fellow student Lester McKellar had an accommodating mother who let her son and his friends demolish the interior of her home to make room in the house for a theatrette. The Filmland Movie Club boasted about 570 members, and was in operation for seven years.

"I still have people come up to me and say, `I still remember going to the movies in St George St'."

The Australian film Bush Christmas was popular, especially when the club issued a challenge based on a scene in the movie – a prize for the child who brought along the most huhu grubs in a jar. Mrs McKellar's chooks, Barry thinks, took care of the entries after judging was completed.

Lester and Barry both continued in the business and kept in touch. Lester managed theatres the length and breadth of New Zealand, became the distribution manager for Metro Goldwyn Meyer in Auckland, and then the top distributor for Warner Bros in Britain. Barry continued to help his dad in the State Theatre in Stafford St, before the Geraldine venture came up.

Those early days were heady ones for the cinema.

"Those were the days when the motion picture was at its peak, crowd-wise. When the State could boast weekend attendances of 700 people a session, and have two or three sessions a day. When people had to book tickets four or five days ahead at Charles Begg and Co."

The State would be fully booked for the 8pm session. Those who had missed out would start queuing for the 5pm session at 4pm or earlier to buy tickets. The frontage of the State wasn't wide – people would pour into the ticket box when it opened, and, once they'd bought their tickets, they'd then have to join another queue along Stafford St that often stretched up as far as Lewises.

Young Barry would then have his job to do.

"Now, people in this queue here must have a ticket. You must be holding your ticket. If you are not holding a ticket, please rejoin the south queue to buy your ticket."

Those who'd managed to join the wrong queue would then have to charge down Stafford St to the end of the ticket-buying queue.

Elizabeth is Queen, a film based on the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II, ran four sessions daily for a week – the biggest week in theatre history until The Sound of Music came along.

Fast forward to the late 1960s. Cinema wasn't what it was. Those in the smaller centres were closing down. Barry's day job was for many years at Wright Stevenson, and then The Timaru Herald. One day "Bored Teenager" wrote a letter to the editor, complaining about a lack of things to do in the small South Canterbury town. A seed was sown in Barry's mind. That seed was watered by a phone call from Geraldine vicar George Falloon. He wondered whether Barry would consider opening up the Geraldine Cinema again.

It wasn't going to be easy.

"The theatre was an empty shell, no seats, no projector, not screen, no nothing."

For many months, the McLauchlan family and a team of helpers toiled to get the cinema back in action.

"We got seats from a cinema in Christchurch, a screen, carpet from Amalgamated Theatres – that beautiful red carpet that they have – a theatre had closed in Wellington, so they said if we wanted it it was ours."

There were many, many helpers. Friends, family, Geraldine locals, boys who would come in after school and help.

The cinema was owned by the Geraldine Borough Council, so Barry made arrangements to lease it.

But local body ownership proved a bit stressful when amalgamation loomed in 1989.

"The then-mayor of Geraldine tapped me on the shoulder and said, `now listen Baz, we're off to Timaru, so we'd better get a long lease set up'."

Opening night finally rolled around. August 20, 1970 and the film shown was Grand Prix. Barry still has the original poster.

In forty years there have been many memories for the Reverend McLauchlan – so named because of his practice of greeting and farewelling his cinema-going "flock".

There was the Christmas it rained. A lot. The local camping ground was chocka, and the theatre cranked up the heaters to provide some warmth, and the ability for campers to get some clothes dry – the cinema was transformed into a Chinese laundry.

There were children's sessions, matinees, quiz shows, talent quests, birthday parties, a lucky numbers board.

In 1980, the cinema hosted the New Zealand premiere of the movie Phar Lap, thanks to a chance comment from Barry to the film distributor in Auckland. "I asked him if he knew Phar Lap was born not far from Timaru."

There were the patrons who left their seats halfway through a film seeking help for hands covered in chocolate – they'd brought in their snacks and tucked them carefully away ... beside the heater.

Two Swiss cyclists were caught out in the rain, and were seeking some warmth and a way to dry their clothes. Barry told them they were welcome, and headed off to carry out a few jobs. He reappeared in the theatre to discover every stitch they were wearing was draped over the radiators, while the two naked cyclists huddled under blankets.

Sunday night "blue movies" were hugely popular. British, Australian and Continental comedies, all with a sexual overtone – The Activities of a Plumber's Mate, The Amorous Milkman, the driving instructor films. "The audiences flocked in on Sundays ... it was all tease ..."

The availability of DVDs spelled the end to those Sunday night sessions, and the cinema moved into the realms of big action, general, and arthouse movies.

The most popular in Barry's 40 years? The World's Fastest Indian.

Less of a highlight was the day the pony club was watching a film called The Red Pony. The first reel of the film was wet, so Barry handed out copies of the "freshies" – a written synopsis explaining what took place in the first reel. Everything then went well until the last reel of the film went to projection.

"I'm inside watching the film, it changed over, and there was a completely different scene. In the previous reel, the horse was dying ... and when it changed over, it was a completely different English setting. It was actually the last reel of the film The Romantic Englishwoman."

Palmerston North's theatre was experiencing similar problems when a red pony suddenly appeared during its screening of The Romantic Englishwoman.

The curtains once made a premature move to close partway through a screening, but just once in 40 years Barry had to offer a refund because of a projector breakdown.

Barry's devotion to the theatre went to extremes. He'd head up to Lake Ohau for a spot of fishing at the weekend. "And I thought nothing of travelling back to Geraldine to run the Saturday night movies. And then return."

The cinema was very much a family affair. Daughter Kirsten was married there, walking down the aisle to the distinctive 20th Century Fox theme.

Movies ran on Friday and Saturday nights, plus weekend matinees, and a mid-week evening session. And during the holiday season, when the camping ground was full, Barry would run more sessions.

The cinema's success in the face of a multiplex in nearby Timaru, the accessibility of DVDs and big-screen TVs, Barry puts down to the sense of occasion going to the movies still invokes.

"Geraldine is blessed with cafes, and there are people who just simply love going to Geraldine, so they'd have a meal before or after the movie. The biggest thing people wanted to know was what time the 5pm session got out ... then they'd book their tea for after that. So the whole thing was a nice outing."

He never had a timeframe, but was more optimistic than his three-week friend from the beginning.

"I just sort of took it on, and I've thoroughly enjoyed it. It's given me great pleasure to be looking after people, particularly the elderly folk. I used to say to them, it doesn't matter whether you liked the film or didn't, the mere fact you've made the effort to come and see it is all that matters."

Barry hasn't made a fortune out of the business.

"You wouldn't do it if it didn't cover the costs, but it's really been more of a family hobby. It's given us all a wonderful lot of fun."

- © Fairfax NZ News