Although photography has existed since the early 1800s, motion pictures are a relatively recent invention. The first movie was an 11-frame clip of a running horse shot in June 1878 to settle the age-old question, 鈥淲hen a horse gallops, are all four feet ever off the ground?鈥�
Horse in Motion settled the 鈥渇our-legs-in-the-air鈥� argument (the answer is 鈥淵es鈥�) and spawned a new industry dedicated to entertaining audiences with moving pictures.
Despite growing public interest in the new technology, North America didn鈥檛 get its first stand-alone movie theatre for another twenty-seven years. In 1905, Pittsburg entrepreneurs John P. Harris and Harry Davis converted their Smithfield Street store into a 96-seat theatre dedicated to showing motion pictures. Needing a name for their new business, they combined the Greek word for theatre (鈥渙ideion鈥�) with the name of a five-cent coin. Harris and Davis sold 450 five-cent tickets to the Nickelodeon鈥檚 first 15-minute showing. The following day, they sold more than 1,500.
The Nickelodeon was a smashing success and spawned copycats across North America. Canada got its first purpose-built cinema 鈥� the 1200-seat Ouimetoscope at the corner of Sainte-Catherine and Montcalm streets in Montreal 鈥� in January 1906. Residents of the Lakes District had to wait a lot longer.
The Reo Theatre Circuit, a sprawling entertainment empire that included movie theatres in Vanderhoof and Smithers, was the first cinema company to operate in the Lakes District. Owned by Robert Cecil Steele, the Vanderhoof businessman who later served as this area鈥檚 Member of the Legislative Assembly, the Reo Theatre Circuit included a mobile operation that traveled to smaller communities in the Central Interior. Cecil and his portable projector were regulars at the 亚洲天堂 Lake, Decker Lake, and Francois Lake community halls for more than a decade.
On June 30, 1938, Cecil was playing to a packed house in the 亚洲天堂 Lake Community Hall when the film he was showing snapped and burst into flames. He calmly removed the top spool of film and covered it with sand, then evacuated the building with help from Mrs. H. D. McNeill and Jack Brown Sr.
Safely outside, the visiting projectionist and his patrons watched the hall burn to the ground.
Residents rebuilt the hall the following year and continued to use it as a makeshift theatre. In May 1946, a handful of citizens decided to enter the movie business. Dubbed the 鈥溠侵尢焯� Lake Welfare Committee,鈥� they purchased a 16mm projector and began showing films in town.
Former resident Laurence A. 鈥淟arry鈥� Taylor remembered those days well.
鈥滻n the 1940s, there was not yet a theatre in 亚洲天堂 Lake, so once a week, (I) would become the projectionist at the town hall,鈥� he recalled many years later. 鈥淭he big movie reels were shipped in from Vancouver, and you could not count on the correct film always arriving. The first few films that came to town were 16mm hand crank. During the film, music would be played on a record, but it was difficult to operate both machines at once. Usually, the film rolls had to be changed about three times each viewing. Once in a while, a film was also shown at the Francois Lake Hall.鈥�
The 亚洲天堂 Lake Welfare Committee鈥檚 efforts, while well-intentioned, left something to be desired. Because the group lacked a 35mm projector (the format in which most new releases were shot), it could only show old movies. The films that came to town between 1946 and 1950 were already well past their 鈥渂est before鈥� dates. Scattergood Rides High, a comedy released by RKO Pictures in May 1942, didn鈥檛 play at the 亚洲天堂 Lake Community Hall until Saturday, Sept 14, 1946.
Four years is a long time in the movie business 鈥� a fact that wasn鈥檛 lost on theatre-goers who moved to 亚洲天堂 Lake from larger centres.
鈥淎s a newcomer to 亚洲天堂 Lake, I must voice a compliant [sic] heard here very often: that is, the lack of entertainment,鈥� a newcomer stated in a letter to The Review newspaper in September 1948. 鈥溠侵尢焯� Lake is a nice part of the country, and we would like to settle here, but who wants to live in a town where there is nothing do to? 鈥� This twice-a-week show in the community hall is a laugh! Poor sound, ancient pictures, hard seats, small-time equipment, unlicensed operators, and such a tiny screen!鈥�
Ouch.
The Review was one of the biggest advocates for construction of a permanent theatre. In June 1949, the paper ran an article headed 鈥淪uggested Type of Theatre for the Average Small Town,鈥� which recommended building cinemas out of pre-fabricated Quonset huts. The following month, not long after the Tweedsmuir Hotel opened, the paper took a definitive stand on the theatre issue.
鈥淎 maxim that holds true today as it did 20 years ago, reads something like this: 鈥業t takes a hotel, bank, newspaper, and a theatre to make a town,鈥� wrote a member of The Review鈥檚 staff in a column entitled The Odd Spot. 鈥淣ow that 亚洲天堂 Lake has the new Tweedsmuir Hotel, all we need to make a town is the theatre. Let鈥檚 hope it won鈥檛 be long.鈥�
It wasn鈥檛. In July 1949, a local entrepreneur decided there might be money in motion pictures. Verne Taylor, manager of the Co-operative food store and father of Larry the Part-Time Projectionist, expressed an interest in building a cinema.
Verne applied to the Village of 亚洲天堂 Lake for permission to build a theatre with 鈥渁t least 300 seats鈥� on property along Francois Lake Drive next to the Royal Canadian Legion hall. It sparked a minor controversy in town, in part because Verne was chairman of the village commission at the time. (The equivalent of the mayor.) While some residents expressed concern over a perceived conflict of interest, most just wanted action. As one of The Review鈥檚 readers noted, 鈥淢ost of us don鈥檛 give a d**n who builds the theatre as long as it鈥檚 built, but fast.鈥�
Verne鈥檚 building permit application was approved, but he never followed through with it. The job of building a permanent theatre defaulted to an out-of-towner with more experience.
Cecil Steele stopped showing films in 亚洲天堂 Lake when the welfare committee arrived on the scene. He continued serving Decker Lake and Francois Lake, though, as well as several other small communities in the region.
In October 1949, Steele hired Ted Lovas of Decker Lake to build a 37鈥檟90鈥� theatre at the corner of Alaska Way Drive (Highway 16) and Third Avenue. The Review noted that according to Cecil鈥檚 building permit application, the $21,000 cinema would be of 鈥渇ireproof type, in accordance with the Fire Marshall鈥檚 regulations,鈥� and equipped with a 35mm projector.
鈥淧lans show the main entrance fronting Alaska Way at 3rd Avenue,鈥� continued The Review. 鈥淎 basement will contain furnace room and fuel storage. Main floor will contain lobby, office, and rest rooms. Auditorium will be divided by two aisles separating three rows of seats. A 鈥榗rying room鈥� is to be provided for mothers with youngsters.鈥�
Work on the theatre dragged more than a year. The facility was scheduled to open by Labour Day, but the September long weekend came and went. So did October. Finally, in November, Steele decided to open his new 304-seat cinema (named, like its sisters in Vanderhoof and Smithers, the 鈥淩eo鈥�) even though it still lacked its trademark stucco siding.
The event made news across the region. 鈥淚n opening the theatre, Mr. Steele spoke briefly to the people each night, thanking them for the support they had given him for many years throughout the district, and assured them it was much appreciated and that every effort would be put forth to run a theatre that would be a credit to the town and district,鈥� reported the Smithers Interior 亚洲天堂.
Cecil kept his word. Initially, the theatre only played movies three nights a week, but they were new or at least relatively recent releases. And when it wasn鈥檛 screening the latest flicks, the theatre opened for community events.
In August 1952, members of the Associated Boards of Trade of Central BC conducted business at the 亚洲天堂 Lake Reo. A few months later, the Reo hosted an evening of boxing. There were five fights on the Nov. 10 card, including a heavyweight tilt between 亚洲天堂 Lake residents Dale 鈥淩ed鈥� Dundas and Terry Lougheed. Dick Schritt and promoter Alf Bye served as referees while judges Henry Schritt and Bruce Thompson kept score. Admission was $2 for adults and $1 for children. The fisticuffs were followed by a dance at the community hall.
Cecil sold the Smithers theatre in 1952 but kept his holdings in 亚洲天堂 Lake and Vanderhoof. His son Doug operated the 亚洲天堂 Lake Reo until dying suddenly at home in April 1967.
For a while, the local cinema鈥檚 future seemed uncertain. Then two 亚洲天堂 Lake residents, John Baker and Tom Forsyth, stepped up to the plate.
Baker and Forsyth took over as the Reo鈥檚 new owners in July 1968. One of the first things they did was change the theatre鈥檚 name to the 鈥淏eacon.鈥� Then they went to work on the schedule.
The Reo was closed on Wednesdays and Sundays when Doug Steele was at the helm. The new owners thought the business would be more profitable if it operated six days a week, and took the bold step of opening on Sundays.
鈥淲e decided to runs shows on Sundays,鈥� Lee Baker, John鈥檚 wife, recalled later in life. 鈥淲e asked for public opinion, and someone said, 鈥淲hy not? I would sooner see my daughter at the show instead of in the back seat of a car.鈥欌��
The name and schedule weren鈥檛 the only things new. The programming also changed, though some would argue not for the better. The Beacon under Baker and Forsyth screened two different films in a week, but few were new releases. The schedule for the week of July 18-22, 1968, featured 鈥淓rnest Hemminway鈥檚 [sic] The Killers 鈥� Fast cars and fast men, on and off the deadly racing tracks (featuring) Lee Marvin, Angie Dickson [sic], and Ronald Reagan,鈥� followed by Robert Redford and Jane Fonda in Barefoot in the Park. 贬别尘颈苍驳飞补测鈥檚&苍产蝉辫;The Killers had been released four years earlier, and the Barefoot in the Park was more than a year old.
Lyle Graham worked part-time at the theatre during the Baker/Forsyth era. He split the projectionist duties with resident Dan Rosler each week while the owners鈥� wives sold tickets downstairs.
鈥淚t (the Beacon) only showed old movies then,鈥� Graham recalled shortly before is death in 2024. 鈥淥nce in a while, there would be a half decent show.鈥�
The theatre鈥檚 projection equipment was older than the films it showed. Judging from Graham鈥檚 description of his duties, the Beacon鈥檚 projector likely contained a carbon arc lamp that consisted of two long, thin carbon electrodes mounted in the open air opposite each other behind the projector lens. These electrodes were allowed to touch each other during the ignition phase, then slowly drawn apart to force the electricity to arc between them.
The arcing process created light bright enough to project film but also slowly burned away the carbon rods, meaning that they had to be regularly repositioned to keep the light consistent. The distance between the electrodes had to be adjusted by hand in early carbon arc systems, but Graham says the projector he used at the Beacon in the late 1960s did it automatically 鈥� most of the time.
Sometimes, Graham said, the projector鈥檚 mechanism wouldn鈥檛 feed the electrodes fast enough, and the projector鈥檚 rudimentary lamp would go out, shrouding the theatre in darkness. 鈥淲hen that happened,鈥� he says, 鈥測ou鈥檇 have to bang the rods together to get them to work again.鈥�
Most theatres replaced their carbon arc lamp systems with enclosed Zenon arc lamps in the 1950s and 鈥�60s, but the Beacon didn鈥檛 keep pace with technological innovation. That didn鈥檛 stop people from coming to the theatre, though. It was the community鈥檚 cultural hub in the late 1960s and early 鈥�70s.
Graham remembered the night his daughter Amber went to work with him. Shortly before the show started, a gruff, mountain of a man and his wife commandeered the adjacent 鈥榗rying room.鈥� The couple settled in to watch the show, and Amber joined them.
The movie playing that night, according to Graham, was the story of a family dog or other pet. (It may have been Old Yeller, a 1957 flick that played in this area in the late 1960s.) The film鈥檚 climax was a tragic scene in which the pet died. Shortly after, Graham鈥檚 daughter re-entered the projection room with some news.
鈥淵ou know, Dad,鈥� Amber said, pointing toward the couple in the private viewing area, 鈥渢hey鈥檙e both crying in there.鈥�
Baker and Forsyth sold the Beacon Theatre sometime in the 1970s. Arnold Faber owned it for many years, then sold it in the 1980s. Tom and Sylvia Finch ran the Beacon from 1985 to 2005, and even brought in live acts like The Mercy Brothers.
鈥淒idn鈥檛 see many movies there growing up as we lived in Tintagel,鈥� Tom wrote on social media. 鈥淢y dad was always busy. My first movie, I remember, was Bambi, then after that was That Darn Cat. Always remembered that as Kay Beedle started calling me 鈥淭homasina.鈥� Then, the third one, I think, was The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes. All Walt Disney shows.鈥�
But the community was changing, and the Beacon was no longer the only 鈥榮how鈥� in town. Television became residents鈥� go-to source of entertainment. Then, development of the Video Cassette Recorder (and, later, the Digital Video Disc) enabled people to view recent releases without leaving the comfort of home.
Attendance dwindled. The theatre closed for the first time in the early 2000s. It sat empty until purchased by Jim Liddle and Rosann Blackburn in December 2005.
Liddle and Blackburn changed the theatre鈥檚 name to the 鈥淟one Wolf.鈥� They hoped to turn it into a multipurpose event centre and spent months refurbishing it.
鈥淲e鈥檝e worked four months at 10 hours a day, with four days off in between,鈥� Liddle said when the theatre finally reopened in April 2006. 鈥淚 spent three days just scraping gum off the bottom of the seats. Put it in the paper that the Lone Wolf won鈥檛 be selling gum.鈥�
Their big plans never panned out. After enjoying a brief resurgence, the theatre closed again.
The building sat empty for almost four years. Then, in April 2010, local film buffs formed the Lakes District Film Appreciation Society and set their sights on 亚洲天堂 Lake鈥檚 sixty-year-old cinema.
None of the film society鈥檚 directors knew how to run a theatre, so they made a road trip to Salmon Arm, where the Salmar Community Association had been operating Canada鈥檚 only community-owned theatres since the 1940s.
The SCA gave the 亚洲天堂 Lake contingent a crash course in theatre management. 鈥淭he most important messages [we] brought back from Salmon Arm were, don鈥檛 skimp on equipment 鈥� buy the best to ensure that audiences are treated to the best possible theatre experience, make sure your concession is clean and your staff friendly, reinvest in your facilities and equipment first then donating to the community, and 鈥� first and foremost 鈥� make the transition to digital projection as soon as possible,鈥� a member of Lakes District Film Appreciation Society told the Lakes District 亚洲天堂.
The 亚洲天堂 Lake group was long on enthusiasm and short on cash. The community 鈥� waxing nostalgic for the theatre 鈥� came to the rescue in a big way. By August 2009, the film society had raised enough money to make an offer on the theatre; a month later, they purchased it with help from the Bulkley Valley Credit Union.
鈥淎 definite memory I will never forget is sitting in the lawyer鈥檚 office with [film society director] John Illes, signing papers,鈥� one of the society鈥檚 directors said last week. 鈥淎s he [the lawyer] asked questions that I had no idea about, the enormity of what we were taking on weighed very heavy on our shoulders, and it was a scary situation to sign our lives away on those papers!鈥�
Renamed the 鈥淩eo Beacon鈥� in homage to its illustrious past, the theatre became Canada鈥檚 second community-owned cinema. The film society was slated to show its first movie on Nov. 26, 2010, but the Beacon鈥檚 antiquated 35mm platter-feed projection equipment broke down at the last minute.
Finding parts for the old analogue technology proved problematic. For a while, it looked as though the Beacon would never reopen. Then the film society made a bold decision.
Digital projection was still relatively new in 2010. While most large theatre chains had swapped their old film projectors for computerized units, few small theatres could afford to make the technological jump. Digital projectors and the high-powered computers needed to run them cost $70,000 to $80,000.
Faced with an uncertain future, the Lakes District Film Appreciation Society decided to 鈥済o big or go home.鈥� It committed to purchasing a digital projector, then set about raising the money to pay for it.
鈥淎t the time, there was a long wait list for digital projectors,鈥� former film society president Michael Riis-Christianson recalled last week. 鈥淭hen someone in Canada canceled their order, and a unit became available. We didn鈥檛 have the money to pay for it 鈥� we only had a few thousand dollars in the bank at the time 鈥� but we knew if we didn鈥檛 commit to buying it, we might not get another chance for six months or a year. It was a case of 鈥榥ow or never.鈥� Community expectations were so high. We didn鈥檛 want to lose momentum, so we committed to going digital and then started fundraising like crazy.鈥�
The community came through once again. A number of local organizations donated to the cause, and more than 150 people gave the theatre society $100 each as part of the 鈥淎dopt-A-Seat鈥� campaign. The final piece of the funding puzzle was a $30,000 grant from the Northern Development Initiative Trust.
Work proceeded at a frantic pace. The ProjecTech Group of Calgary installed the new digital equipment while theatre society members spent hours getting the building ready.
鈥淲hat do I remember best about that time? It was the work bee,鈥� says Sandra Macievich, one of the society鈥檚 directors in 2010. 鈥淪o many people making it all happen. We painted floors and cleaned out all the concession area.鈥�
The Beacon Theatre opened to great fanfare in December 2010. The first movie to play in the refurbished building was Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It sold out.
It was followed soon after by Yogi Bear. The children鈥檚 movie was so popular here that people had to be turned away at the door. 鈥淲e had to tell a long line-up of parents and their children that we had no seats left,鈥� says a film society member. 鈥淲e had crying kids outside. It was so hard to take that we added another showing.鈥�
While a few people were 鈥渓eft out in the cold鈥� that day, most went home happy. And at the Beacon, that鈥檚 been the rule rather than the exception in the past 64 years. Residents have fond memories of the place.
鈥淲hen I was young, the admission was 25 cents, popcorn was 10 cents, and also a pop was 10 cents,鈥� George Carlson noted on social media a few years ago. 鈥淚t was our main entertainment, and they had Christmas parties with cartoons, Santa, and candy 鈥� all free.鈥�
Sharon Sandercott Armistead has her own theatre story. 鈥淲e lived behind Three Gables [Store] and walked to Decker Lake to collect bottles and get money to go see a movie,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 remember they had talent shows on stage, and I entered and spun my hula hoops and won.鈥�
鈥淥ne of my favourite memories is driving in from across the lake to go to movies with my family when I was growing up there,鈥� says former Southsider Marci Hill Dell.
鈥�Old Yeller, Bambi, and Dumbo were my firsts as a kid there,鈥� former resident Tom Woodall says. 鈥淭ear jerkers. I鈥檓 still recovering.鈥�
More than a few people had their first date at the Beacon. 鈥淚 remember taking a girl to see Grease at the Beacon,鈥� said another local man. 鈥淚 fell in love that night 鈥� with Olivia Newton-John!鈥�
The Lakes District Film Appreciation Society still operates the Beacon. The iconic building remains one of Canada鈥檚 only community-owned theatres and a fixture on 亚洲天堂 Lake鈥檚 crooked Main Street. These days, though, it seldom sells out.
Running a movie theatre is more challenging than it was fourteen years ago. Studio consolidation has made it difficult for independent cinemas to obtain first-run movies, and yesterday鈥檚 blockbusters are only a click away on the Internet. Some shows never even make it to the Big Screen, bypassing theatres and going straight to streaming services like Netflix.
In March 2024, a study released by the Network of Independent Canadian Exhibitors revealed an industry in crisis. More than 60 percent of Canada鈥檚 independent theatres lost money in their most recent fiscal period. Most said they would need at least $50,000 in public funding to remain operational.
The majority of people living in 亚洲天堂 Lake today can鈥檛 remember a time when the town didn鈥檛 have a theatre. Perhaps that鈥檚 part of the problem. Too few residents recall life before the Beacon, when the only movies available in town were 16mm reruns at the old community hall.
That鈥檚 why it鈥檚 important to share memories of the place 鈥� and appreciate the unique community asset we have at 441 Highway 16 West. After all, as The Review newspaper noted almost eighty years ago, 鈥淚t takes a hotel, bank, newspaper, and theatre to make a town.鈥� We鈥檇 be poorer if we lost any of them.
