Standing behind his wooden bar in the low-lit surrounds of the last bistro in Fontenay-Saint-Père, Valéry Letouzey flashes a weak smile of embarrassment when asked about his diminishing stock of pastis. "There was some," he says, reaching back to the liquor shelf and peering in vain inside an emerald bottle of aniseed 51. "But now it's all gone." He replaces it on the shelf, and shrugs. There's no martini, either.

Times are hard for Le Fontenoy, the only surviving cafe in this village in north-central France which once had three, as well as a butcher's, a boulangerie, a grocer's and a restaurant. Now, as changing habits and new laws alter the residents' relationship with an erstwhile local fixture, its future is looking bleak. It is a bistro with no kitchen, a former tabac with no cigarettes, and Letouzey's coffers are as empty as his bottle of pastis.

In a last-ditch attempt to save the cafe he deems "the social link of the village", the determined patron has launched an online appeal for donations which he hopes will bring in enough money to keep the business afloat in the short term. If he does not get the ¤10,000 (£9,000) he has asked for, he warns, "we'll be dead. It'll be quick."

The fundraising mission at Fontenay-Saint-Père, about 35 miles north-west of Paris, has attracted considerable media attention. But its struggle is just the tip of the iceberg. Last year, in its île de France region alone, about 2,000 bistros and cafes went under. Across France as a whole, about are 35,000 still open. In the 1960s there were 200,000.

Last week Le Parisien, the capital's daily newspaper, issued a clarion call for the hard-hit bistro, warning on its front page that time was running out to save the "fast disappearing" bastion of "jambon beurre baguettes, egg mayonnaise, jokes, chat and table football".

But opinions are divided on how to go about this. Many, including the government, feel that it is up to the industry to adapt according to the needs of society and that any business that cannot keep up with the pace of change does not deserve to survive.

Bernard Quartier, president of an industry group representing cafes and brasseries, believes the onus is on owners to provide their customers with new services, such as showing sporting events on television or offering coffees for the symbolically low price of one euro. (Parisian customers can often expect to pay almost three times as much for an espresso.)

Quartier believes that owners can sometimes display an intransigence which does them untold financial harm. "It's unbelievable that in 2007 60% of cafes still weren't selling diet coke," he said.

But while the need to adapt is widely acknowledged, others feel this approach is short-sighted. For them, the combined effect of a smoking ban, a drink-driving crackdown, the arrival of supermarkets and a widespread reliance on mobile phones and computers for human interaction has made the forces working against local establishments too great for individual patrons to withstand. In order to resist, they say, the state needs to step in, and soon.

"They have to be subsidised," said Monique Eleb, a sociologist who has studied in depth the role of cafes in French society.

She believes that those bistros that play a role in the local community should benefit from state funding to keep them afloat. Otherwise, she warns, France will lose a crucial part of its social fabric.

"[In cafes] speech is free and there's a place for everyone … The customer has the impression of existing amidst humanity," she told Le Parisien, adding that pressure to adapt to the needs of the public in the 21st century – particularly young people – had led to an identity crisis for many traditional venues.

As they woo new clients, they lose the old ones, and the goal of having a functioning, profitable business is chased at the expense of a flourishing social facility.

The latter model is exactly what Letouzey is trying to do with Le Fontenoy. And, while he has made concessions to the modern world by installing free wireless internet, he believes that if his cafe survives long-term it will be because of an expanded role in the village. He plans to follow the words of Balzac and strengthen the bistro's role as "a parliament of the people" by holding more concerts at the weekend, so-called cafe philo sessions for debate, and fairytale readings for children. A good bistro, he explains, is somewhere "open to everyone, a forum, a place of exchange, where you can meet people and, whether you're a woman or a man or a child you … can live in perfect harmony."

"Maybe it sounds a bit utopian," he says, "but … close the cafe and neighbours won't meet each other any more. They go to work, they go home. Not every neighbour is going to make the effort to approach others."

Even in those rare businesses – mostly in Paris and other big cities – which are still going strong, this social dimension is on the wane. Yannick Bel-Ange, a barman at the popular Bistrot du Peintre in the south-east of the capital, says that even as his custom has increased, the venue's communal spirit has diminished.

"As soon as it's nice outside everyone is on the terrace and the bar is deserted," he said. "People are more individualistic. There are still some people who come in to have a chat over a drink or a coffee but they are rare. That's society changing … People have less time for each other. In Paris, that is; in the provinces it's different."

For the hundred or so regulars of Le Fontenoy battling to save their bistro it is certainly different.

"It's a place where I come a lot, just to chat, meet friends, talk about our days, our personal stuff," said Tony Carrier. "I remember when there were places like that all over the village, and now this is the only one. It would be a real shame if it closed."

Pulling together to organise fundraising concerts and community events, the bistro's patrons have made clear their loyalty to a building that has served for years as their local lieu de vie – place of life. That's not going to change, they say – even if there is no more pastis.