Remembering…Everybody’s Equal

During an edition of the Tony Slattery-hosted 1990s Family Channel quiz Trivial Pursuit, one of the contestants said he had previously appeared on Everybody’s Equal. Ah yes, said Slattery, but the great tragedy is that of course not everybody’s equal, before going into a riff around economic inequity, man’s inhumanity to man, and so on.

It’s always struck this correspondent as rather an odd name for a show (Everybody’s Equal, that is, not Trivial Pursuit), because it’s something of an understatement that having contestants on an equal footing is a cornerstone of, well, practically any game show format. Imagine if one contestant on Catchphrase started on -£500 just for the hell of it, or if William G. Stewart strode onto the Fifteen to One stage, pointed at three random contestants and said “you, you and you are playing with two lives instead of three.”

Or is it? Take the Fifteen to One example. Is it better to stand at position number 1 or position number 15? Some players, if they get past the first round, never get nominated through either sheer good fortune, intimidation, or taking half a step back so they’re not in anybody’s eyeline (q.v. Brain Men). A contestant standing at number 1 will have to take a question in round two (i.e. the first one) whether they like it or not.

Or what about The Chase? Yes, yes, we’ve all seen the recent joke when contestants Tom, Dick, Ann and Harry appeared on the same programme, but do contestants who sit in the fourth chair have a natural advantage over those who sit in the first chair? They can see who will be in the Final Chase with them, and potentially take a minus offer from the chaser. As a Metro article from November points out, fans of the show who get angry when contestants take away from the pot ‘are not looking at the bigger picture…the lower offer is more often than not the smartest possible move’. Plus of course there are natural exceptions; head starts given to female contestants on the Krypton Factor assault course, or the Blockbusters ‘are two heads better than one?’ imbroglio?

Before this gets too philosophical, let’s look at Everybody’s Equal in greater detail, thanks to a recent upload of a complete episode to YouTube:

Influences

This blog has already taken a reminiscent look at Channel 5’s Whittle, which was essentially Everybody’s Equal done on the cheap, so the rudiments of the format do not need to be examined again, except to note the slight differences. 200 contestants were in each programme instead of 100, who answered questions on their keypads, had the piss taken out of them if they hit a gag answer, before the final 10 played off in the second half of the show to win a guaranteed £1,000 (£500 in Whittle’s case) and the chance to either win £2,000 (£1,000 for Whittle) or have it split between members of the audience. Contestants who made the final 10 in Everybody’s Equal got £100 for each correct answer after the break, while those in Whittle got nothing.

What is interesting to note, however, are the influences. The ‘audience keypad’ technology developed around the time of Everybody’s Equal was the cornerstone of the show, and it also would go on to influence the fastest finger first segment of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, another Tarrant/Celador venture. The technology also appeared in Cluedo, another Tarrant-hosted show, where the audience in the first series could vote as to who they thought the murderer was.

To that end, even the end graphic at the end of EE’s first half strikes a very similar tone to WWTBAM:

Two completely independent and original ideas here – yes, sir

There is another interesting touch in the aesthetics; whereas Whittle contestants who fell at the final 10 had to embarrass themselves by wearing a silly mask, EE had a rather nicer lighting effect plunging losing players into the dark:

Let’s face it, you’d prefer the scenario on the left, wouldn’t you?

Hosting

The move to give Chris Tarrant the hosting gig for Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? was, of course, ultimately inspired. Tarrant was able to combine serious hosting duties due to the sheer amount of money on offer – not previously his forte – with light hearted moments more typical of his style, which were sometimes vital to relieve the mounting tension. Though that said, it’s worth noting that combining serious with humorous was something Tarrant did on Tarrant on TV; while the majority of features and clips were of a facetious nature, the clip leading into the ad break usually covered more hard hitting ground.

Here, there is also a mix of both, although while getting to the deep end of the final 10 and continually saying this is ‘very serious stuff’ Tarrant still can’t resist larking about on the Geoff Capes question. The ritual piss taking for anyone who gives a stupid answer – the two punters who thought Omar Sharif famously played dominoes at a world class level, for instance – is meat and drink, while the roots for Millionaire’s more serious side were also laid down here.

As this blog has previously examined, the format of Everybody’s Equal had the potential to seriously go wrong – and it did on one occasion, where fewer than 10 contestants answered an early round one question and so the first half of the contest ended with only a few minutes gone. As UKGameShows puts it, Tarrant was left “trying desperately to fill the time” – a real test of one’s hosting capabilities.

Conclusion

Going back to the UKGameShows review, Everybody’s Equal is described as “one of the more inventive quizzes that ITV [had] done in recent times” – and it’s hard to disagree. Watching the show again, there are certainly some dated elements (the title sequence, for a start) but alongside that some very nice touches. The end game was excellently poised as well; it was sufficiently difficult so that the overall winner, who of course had already pocketed their £500/£1000, did not frequently win, while those in the audience could also take a slice of the pie. Everyone – well, almost everyone – was happy; and wasn’t that the whole purpose of the show anyway?

Postscript: This entry has a sad note on which to end. Those who know their game show connections may well recognise the winner of this episode of Everybody’s Equal, actress Imogen Bain, who sadly died in 2014 at the age of 55. Her husband for many years was the actor Simon Holmes, who made several appearances on Fifteen to One, including the Millennium Quiz.

The Krypton Factor and general knowledge: Analysing changes over the years

Back in 2010, when The Krypton Factor comeback was well and truly swinging, the good people at Bother’s Bar did a superb analysis of the general knowledge round, the climax of television’s toughest quiz show. Its conclusion, with one point on offer for correct answers and one point deducted for wrong answers, was that far from being too heavily weighted as a final round, it was not weighted enough.

The debate over the general knowledge round, and whether it is fairly weighted, is a subject close to Game Show Gallery’s heart; and as this publication has previously explored, it’s a key part of analysing the ‘over before it’s over’ rule. You have to ensure your format remains competitive until the end to stop viewers from switching off early, but equally you have to make sure there is enough interest in the opening half, so not everything rests on the end game.

The Krypton Factor, with 22 points (10/6/4/2) on offer for five rounds before the finale in its later series, is a perfect case study. Take the 1991 series for instance; both Tony Hetherington and Paul Evans won all five opening rounds of their respective heats, and Hetherington would win that year’s Grand Final. With perfect Krypton Factors of 50, and the nearest contestant only on a theoretical 30, if the general knowledge round was decided by the same metric, then it was game over, switch over to something else and see you again next week. Not dissimilar to A Question of Sport replacing the classic one minute round with a more generic ‘on the buzzer’ finale, by weighting general knowledge as two points per correct answer, two points deducted per incorrect answer over 90/105/120 seconds (whichever was in vogue), more than 10 points could be – and occasionally was – scored.

The reviewer at UKGameshows.com clearly sets their stall out on the issue. “One problem…was that, all too often, a contestant who was considerably behind could win if he/she was exceptionally good at general knowledge,” it reads. “This always seemed unfair on those contestants who had shown more all-round abilities…only to be pipped at the last minute if their general knowledge was not so good.”

Bother’s Bar remarked in 2010: “If anyone wants to compile statistics from older series…go on right ahead.” It’s worth noting at the start that it’s difficult to do a forensic analysis because of variables at play – being able to interrupt, and so on – but without further ado, here we go with some of the more interesting examples from the classic series.

1978

Exhibit A: only the second ever series of Krypton, and the rules here were two points correct, two points deducted incorrect, but with a pedestrian 165 seconds (2:45) to play with:

Number of missed questions: 6

Yep, a whopping 23 questions were asked in that final round, meaning a potential 46 points on offer. In mitigation, the round was nowhere near as quick fire as in later series – Gordon Burns’ insistence on saying players’ full names when they buzz, as well as preceding early buzzes with ‘interrupted by…’ is rather quaint – but it’s still an awful lot of points to play for. It’s also interesting to note how the rather nice element of Krypton general knowledge questions linking to each other through a common word was in play pretty much from the show’s beginning.

One minor thing to note with the early editions; contestants would in an earlier round be given three questions which could not be passed over, from which they could gain a maximum of six points. It could be argued their general knowledge had already been tested going into the final round, so contestants far behind by the time of round six could not particularly complain if they were out of contention.

Here’s another example from the same series, but bizarrely with 210 seconds (3:30) to play with.

Update: As the good people at Bother’s Bar pointed out, the time limit for the general knowledge round probably depended on how much time there was to run in the show. It’s also worth noting that until the mid 80s, the format we know of 10/6/4/2 was not sacrosanct. The clue is that in the first two examples, the total scores do not add up to 110 (i.e 22 x 5).

Number of missed questions: 1

Despite the extra 45 seconds, only one more question is asked, therefore making 48 points to go at. In both cases, however, the leading contestant won the contest. Ken Wilmshurst, the runner up in clip one (two contestants going through from the semi finals back then), would eventually win the 1978 title.

1987

Exhibit B: an episode featuring the famous Marian Chanter. Here, it’s 100 seconds, at a quicker pace, but answers only get 1 point added or deducted either way.

Number of missed questions: 0

17 questions get asked, meaning, well, 17 points to play for. Again, the leading contestant going into the round wins the contest, and if the scores were two points either way instead of one, the winner would not have changed although the positions would have (Chanter 34, Bruno 32, Laverty 30, Wallace 24). It’s worth noting that no missed questions and plenty of interruptions mean more questions get asked in this instance, but was this a step too far in the other direction?

1991

Exhibit C. Another thing to note with the General Knowledge round was that, not only was it a chance for contestants significantly behind to overhaul their deficit and win, it was also a chance for players even further behind to stake their place for the highest scoring runner up position.

Number of missed questions: 1

The Group B final featured the aforementioned Evans and Hetherington, two contestants who blitzed their respective heats. Evans blitzed the group final with an 18 point lead going into the final round, but Hetherington scored enough to claim his place in the Grand Final as runner up, and would of course go on to win the final – with Evans in second. Is this fair – or is this fairer than the 1987 alternative?

1992

Exhibit D, and possibly the greatest exponent of the general knowledge round in Krypton’s history. Before that however, a 1992 group B heat, with 90 seconds and two points for right or wrong.

In this instance the leading contestant, Janet Morris, was 24 points ahead so it was all over bar the shouting anyway – and impossible if the one point rule was still enforced. In the end, Morris won by 16 points after Jackie Harte scored 10 points (seven right answers, two wrong) in 90 seconds. With three misses and 16 questions being asked in the round, it was technically possible to overhaul the lead. Again, is this fair?

Number of missed questions: 2

Now this is what you call dominating a round, going from 12 points behind to being a 10 point victor. Andrew Craig, who perhaps unsurprisingly won the Grand Final after winning the Group C final in such spectacular fashion, answered the first seven questions of the round correctly, meaning he had clawed himself in front before anybody else got a look in. It’s worth noting that, unlike his heat and group final, Craig led going into the final of the Grand Final, but is gaining 24 points in a single round when 22 are on offer in total for other rounds unfair, or just excellent play?

1993

One year on, and again another change has been made to the General Knowledge round, moving from 90 seconds to 75. Was Craig’s dominance the previous year a factor? It’s a possibility, although other issues – such as the implementation of a commercial break for the first time leading to a shorter show – are at play.

Number of missed questions: 2

In the Group A final, only 13 questions were asked, meaning 26 points on offer, but with three wrong answers and two misses, only 10 points were scored in the round. Is this redressing the balance, or are there not enough points to play for?

The Grand Final of 1993 was a fascinating situation, with three contenders six points behind the leader. Alex Mowat and Norman Kenvyn both came from behind in their group finals to secure their Grand Final berths, while Eddie Jackson performed superbly in general knowledge in the group C final (behind the overall winner, Tim Richardson) to grab his place. Here, 15 questions (including one miss) were asked in 75 seconds – one every five seconds, for those whose maths is not so sharp – but Richardson’s nerve held to win.

Conclusion

As befitting a show which ran for 18 years, The Krypton Factor did subtly change, or at least it did until 1995 where it revamped completely before succumbing. The General Knowledge round, whilst always the climax, had arguably the most changes over the years.

Assuming all being fair, the maximum a contestant should be able to gain in the final round over an opponent is eight points – but enacting the over before it’s over rule means this can be extended so long as a contestant performs exceptionally in the round. Tony Hetherington’s performance in the 1991 group B final is a case in point, gaining 12 points over other competitors albeit in 90 seconds. Similarly, should dominating one of the six rounds – as would usually be the case in the late 80s editions – score only five or six points?

From this reviewer’s perspective, one point for correct answers in the general knowledge round does seem too difficult to claw back a lead. With this in mind, we argue Krypton got it right towards the end, with the 1993 series of two points and 75 seconds seeming the fairest solution. Either way, hopefully this shines some light on a fascinating issue, and how important specific mechanisms are within game show formats.

The greatest UK game show host of all time: Forsyth, Monkhouse…or someone else?

The question of the UK’s greatest game show host of all time is a fantastic one for the local pub (or at least the ones Game Show Gallery frequents). When the discussion is raised, the obvious names are always mentioned; Bruce Forsyth and Bob Monkhouse. But are there any other pretenders to the throne?

A quick history lesson

Despite sharing various game shows over the years, from Family Fortunes/Feud to The Price is Right and so on, UK game show culture is slightly different to its US brethren. While the history starts at similar times – UK radio game show Spelling Bee in 1938, and the US’ Truth or Consequences in 1941, the paths would diverge over time. Notably, while the US market was stagnant in the 1990s, the UK market was thriving – partly due to the prize restrictions from the Independent Broadcasting Authority being lifted.

The key difference, however, is how the US and the UK – two countries separated by a common language, in the words of George Bernard Shaw – sees its game show hosts. In America, the most fondly remembered game show hosts fall into two categories; big stars, or hosts who have seemingly been around forever. Richard Dawson would go into the former category, while the latter includes Bob Barker’s 35 year stint as host of The Price is Right, Alex Trebek’s 31 years and counting on Jeopardy!, and so on.

In the UK, there are plenty of examples of longevity; the late Richard Whiteley’s 23 years in the chair for Countdown, for instance, and the late Magnus Magnusson, who hosted Mastermind for 25 years. While Jeremy Paxman would never consider himself in a million years a game show host, he is about to clock up 21 years as host of University Challenge, following Bamber Gascoigne’s 25 year stint. If we’re talking radio, the late Humphrey Lyttelton hosted I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue for 36 years until his death in 2008, while the seemingly immortal Nicholas Parsons has 47 years and counting in the chair for Just a Minute.

The question here though, is, would these hosts ever qualify in the list of the greatest ever? Probably not.

Forsyth or Monkhouse?

UKGameShows, the oracle of all things game show, held two polls to answer this very question in 2002 and 2006. Forsyth came top in both, with Monkhouse 2nd and 3rd respectively. A Guardian article from 2008 noted Forsyth “is so clearly king of the hill that he might as well just have three places in any list of 10 all to himself”, yet inexplicably left out Monkhouse.

Forsyth and Monkhouse hosted dozens of game shows between them over their careers. While both have admitted regret at being pigeonholed into this genre, it was a solid source of work, it kept them both firmly in the public eye – and it helped that both were phenomenally good at their jobs. Forsyth was the cajoler of the contestant and the catchphrase, Monkhouse was the master of the mirth and the moniker.

As Game Show Gallery has explained in the past, catchphrases aren’t just cheesy gimmicks – they’re an easy to decipher, catchy way of explaining the rules, or exposition in a show. The majority of Brucie’s catchphrases are unconnected to that, true, but take two examples from Play Your Cards Right:

“Now I’m the leader of the pack, which makes me such a lucky Jack, and here they are they’re so appealing, come on dollies do your dealing!”
“You get nothing for a pair… [audience] not in this game!”

This effect was beautifully parodied when Forsyth guest hosted Have I Got News For You in 2003, with the infamous Play Your Iraqi Cards Right. When Bruce proffered ‘you get nothing for a pair’, the audience knew exactly what to say, to Paul Merton’s delight/astonishment (delete as appropriate). Ironically, the last ever episode of Play Your Cards Right was broadcast just a week after the HIGNFY recording.

Monkhouse had catchphrases aplenty, too. “In bingo lingo it’s clickety-clicks, now time to take your pick of the six” is a classic from Bob’s Full House. On Family Fortunes, catchphrases were often just based on repetition as it was said in the show so frequently – “our survey said” and so on. Yet what solidified Forsyth and Monkhouse’s relationships with the public, and the shows they were on, was in their naming. It wasn’t just The Price is Right, Play Your Cards Right, or The Generation Game, but Bruce’s Price is Right, Bruce’s Play Your Cards Right, and so on. For Bob, it was more subtle. Contestants on Celebrity Squares when playing for the car were invited to the Monkhouse Motorshow, while finalists going for the star prize on Wipeout had the Monkhouse Minute. Indeed, one lesser known 90s BBC show, Monkhouse’s Memory Masters, was just going to be called Memory Masters before it was confirmed Bob would be hosting it. The entire product had to be rebranded.

This is another easy-to-miss point: Monkhouse and Forsyth traversed the Beeb and ITV across their career. Bob’s Full House and Wipeout were BBC. Family Fortunes and Celebrity Squares were ITV. Forsyth famously fell out with the BBC for some years, before returning in a blaze of glory with nostalgia quiz Didn’t They Do Well. Indeed, the BBC turned down The Price is Right on the grounds of it being too, well, non-Beeb.

Forsyth would have great little set pieces with the contestants that would actually make it worth watching as opposed to just bits of dreary filler. Anyone remember on the Gen Game how he would get out a little notepad and make a jokey remark about a contestant having read a fact on his card? Theoretical example: Contestant says he enjoys sailing and kayaking in his spare time. Bruce: “Oh? I’ll have to write that down…might be a little squirt…” It just added a simple, friendly gag. There was a golden moment in an early Generation Game episode where the challenge was making pottery. For one contestant, whose pot did not look the best, the expert said it was “a bit puckered.” “Well and truly puckered,” Forsyth replied.

In the monk house, however, the gag was truly king. On Bob’s Full House, Monkhouse would just write the word ‘joke’ and come up with something. Bob’s Your Uncle featured a five minute topical stand up set at the top of each show. And as we previously explored, the joke to minute ratio on Celebrity Squares was pretty high.

Combine this longevity, the humour and ease with contestants, and the branding, and you have a fairly solid case for both of them. Yet there are others in the frame.

Once – or twice – in a million

The obvious choice as a pretender to the crown of Forsyth and Monkhouse is Chris Tarrant. There is a huge irony in the fact that, five years after presenting a little-known late night show called ‘Lose a Million’, he would be king of the pile and guiding contestants on their hopeful journey to win a genuine million pounds.

Yet it was a deserved rise to the top. Anything Tarrant threw himself into, with his infectious, madcap energy, warranted little else. Naturally, things had to dovetail a bit. The creators of the Who Wants to be a Millionaire format had a hand in Tarrant’s regular quiz slot when he was presenting on Capital Radio. As this publication has previously explored, Tarrant’s gigs pre-Millionaire ranged from the interesting to the decidedly iffy. Everybody’s Equal had a decent format – in the most part – and worked well with Tarrant’s persona to create a lively, knockabout quiz. Cluedo, on the other hand, had flaws but worked reasonably as a more serious show, yet Tarrant hated it. Man O Man, well let’s not go there.

But as Millionaire host, Tarrant blended the two perfectly. On what was, let’s face it, a very serious amount of money at stake; he was authoritative, but also unafraid to lighten proceedings. Entire swathes of the country would shout at their screen when, hovering over the answer to a six (or seven) figure question, he would cut to a commercial break. Television rarely got more gripping. Including pilots and guest hosting stints, Tarrant has hosted 16 game shows according to our calculations, behind Bob Monkhouse on 17. But there is someone else who has hosted more.

Davina McCall may not be the first name on everyone’s lips when asked on the most prolific UK game show host of them all. Yet with more than 20 entries, according to UKGameshows, she sits at the top – and of course, McCall and Tarrant are both linked by having a hit involving a £1 million prize. This is not to say that quantity trumps quality, but if you include Big Brother as a bona fide top 10 all time classic, The Million Pound Drop as a solid hit, and Don’t Try This At Home and Popstars: The Rivals just behind, then it’s a pretty impressive body of work whichever way you look at it.

The final reckoning

One element, however, may sway the latter names to a runner-up spot when compared to Forsyth and Monkhouse. It’s arguably an unfair metric as you will see, but it counts for a lot: the history post-Bruce and Bob. What do we mean by this? Take The Golden Shot. In a live studio setting where weaponry was happily being used, for goodness sakes, Monkhouse made the proceedings run effortlessly. After being controversially dismissed for supposed product placement, Monkhouse’s replacements, first Norman Vaughan and then Charlie Williams, did not make it look quite as effortless. Ditto Max Bygraves on Family Fortunes.

The final episode of Monkhouse’s initial run on Golden Shot, as referenced in this excellent BBC Four documentary, is an incredible piece of television. Not only did Monkhouse, entirely out of character, make increasingly macabre references to his sacking, and the fate of his successor, but as the closing credits were about to roll, Vaughan strode on, took a glass of champagne, and cheerfully told viewers to tune in the following week. Monkhouse was history even before his final broadcast had ended. Yet after two years, the status quo was restored.

It was a similar pattern with Forsyth, yet when Larry Grayson took over the reins of The Generation Game in 1978, it had the effect of further galvanising the show. This effect can be explained by a passage in Louis Barfe’s excellent ‘Turned Out Nice Again’: when Grayson took over, the producers had the brainwave of pairing him up with Isla St. Clair, who could keep things on an even keel if there was mayhem all around.

Compare with Big Brother, which soldiers on grimly, and Who Wants to be a Millionaire. But Millionaire may perhaps have the greatest hosting legacy of all; if the host quits, the show quits with it.

Who do you think is the best of the best? Send us a comment with your view.

Review: Keep it in the Family

Family game shows are a strange beast. As it’s more variety based than standard game show, you need a programme which is greater than the sum of its parts. You need a big feel-good atmosphere, and you need a host who can present, tell jokes and play the fool.

The classic, upon which all other family game shows ought to be judged, is The Generation Game. It was always the benchmark for others (3-2-1, Happy Families), and so it should be for the latest cab off the rank, ITV’s Keep it in the Family, hosted by Bradley Walsh, where families play A Series of Variety Games before Competing For Prizes through boxes held by Celebrities of the Day – although as it’s ITV, expect the usual shower from TOWIE, I’m A Celebrity and other assorted pap.

Stuart Heritage, writing for The Guardian, said that KIITF has “probably enough Generation Game to form the basis of a relatively promising lawsuit.” But is this a fair assessment?

Well, taking our review from Series 1 Episode 6, not particularly. Keep it in the Family definitely rips on the Generation Game in one way – games which aim to ape a demonstration from an expert, who then judges afterwards – but it has an awful lot of other influences:

Russian Roulette: Remember the 2003 ITV show, presented by Rhona Cameron (yep, a former I’m A Celebrity… winner), where celebrities got dropped into the abyss? That format’s just been taken wholesale and incorporated into KIITF.

Keep it in the Family has all the ingredients for a successful family game show – good host, big fun variety atmosphere, not too much emphasis on the game element and with lots of influences from other shows in the genre – but the recipe falls a little flat

3-2-1: With six celebrities, there are six prizes, each with riddles which could be one of many things aimed to confuse the contestants. Sound familiar to anyone?

Take a look at these examples from KIITF, and see if you can match them up correctly (answers at the end of this post):

Prizes:
Holiday to Kos; holiday to Blackpool; home entertainment package; a year’s supply of crisps; a go-karting trip; a car

Clues:
1. Watch where you’re going with this prize. You’ll have bags of fun, but please know when to switch off.
2. A feast, a trip, so much variety. This prize needs oil, but try to avoid too many chips.
3. Switch on and let me illuminate you. This prize will have you all riding a golden mile and more.
4. A different view for everyone with lots to look for. I’ll give you a steer – it’s the opposite of boring.
5. Here’s a prize package that will keep the family going. Get your hands on this and fill up.
6. Hats off to this prize. Many roads lead there, it towers above the rest. Stick with it.

Noel’s House Party: One of the games in the show involves elderly ladies explaining current slang to the contestants who have to guess the answer. They come in through a doorbell rung in the studio, NHP-style.

…and more: The six prizes were a mix of the good (a holiday) and the bad (a year’s supply of crisps), rather like Take Your Pick. The concept of boxes itself, you already know, is influenced by Deal or No Deal. And the piece to camera from Walsh at the end of each episode is painfully Family Fortunes.

So that’s the influences out of the way, what about the actual show itself? The whole process just about gets by mainly due to Walsh’s amiable style of presenting. He gets plenty out of the contestants, treats the children and the grandparents cheekily without being patronising (in the main), and the section with the OAPs is almost riotous. This is an important rule of family-oriented game shows; the entertainment is more important than the game element, although not to the extent of panel shows.

Yet it doesn’t flow as well as it should. As Christopher Stevens put it in the Daily Mail: “Bits of all the most successful gameshows have been shamelessly plundered to bring this creature to life…the trouble is, these bits have been assembled in the wrong order.” Stevens argues some of the humour is forced, but when you’re playing to the gallery for three generations, some stuff may fall flat – the editing suite get out of jail card should be used more judiciously, although as we’re filling up a whole hour, it can be quite difficult.

The overall effect is one of a show which is not greater than the sum of its parts. Plenty of family game shows have flopped in the past – Happy Families on the BBC instantly springs to mind – but as this is on ITV, the people’s channel, it gets by. Whether it sees a second series will be open for debate.

* Clues: 1. Go-kart; 2. Holiday to Kos; 3. Car; 4. Entertainment package; 5. Crisps; 6. Blackpool. The family went home with the entertainment package.

Review: The new, new, Celebrity Squares

It’s the early 1990s. Thatcher is dead (politically speaking), the UK is in a John-Major led government and in a little bit of a slump. TV execs don’t know what to do with Saturday night light entertainment and weekend gameshows. The same old shit – Big Break, Blind Date – is on every year unfailingly. In desperation, they turn to a couple of old formats: Celebrity Squares, and The Generation Game.

Fast forward 20 years, and the scene is remarkably similar, except Thatcher is actually dead, and for Big Break and Blind Date, read Strictly Come Dancing and The X-Factor, with their autocratic grip on the schedules. And lo, BBC and ITV have recommissioned Celebrity Squares and The Generation Game, for their third and fourth incarnations respectively.

Game shows can be part of fashion, fall out of fashion, or become so retro they’re part of an ironic fashion. These two recommissions are a case in point.

So Game Show Gallery sat down with the new Celebrity Squares, hosted by Warwick Davis, wondering what quite to make of it all.

Hello, squares! Oh sorry, not you!

Let’s be fair; Celebrity Squares is certainly more on the entertainment side of the game show genre. But bizarrely enough it wasn’t all about the celebs.

In the first two incarnations, the host, Bob Monkhouse, was always in control. Monkhouse would have his own script, usually written by long time collaborator Colin Edmonds (typical gag: “It’s great to have someone here who was in the Navy. I know all about weighing anchor; I used to work in the butter counter at Sainsbury’s”), he’d go to a square at the contestant’s request, fire off a back and forth, ask a question, get the witty reply, and off we went.

This version differs immediately. For the purposes of review, we’re going with episode 3, seen here. The host is actor Warwick Davis, which is not the most obvious choice, it has to be said, particularly given his USP lack of height is in stark contrast to the Celebrity Squares set, one of the biggest in the business. (If you thought the producers played a cruel prank putting Diddy David Hamilton in front of that ginormous All Clued Up keyboard, then think again.) He has a solid repartee – saying of his suit “I’m wearing a Toys R’ Us”, for instance – but his role isn’t to dominate, it’s to complement, and sit back when necessary. Each question has an exit gag for Davis, to keep in if it succeeds and to trim if it bombs, but he plays less of a role than Bob.

Let’s see what else has changed.

Cosmetics and atmospherics

First things first, good God what a non-descript theme tune. Is this a device that a lot of execs portray nowadays because it might detract from the main show, or something? Put alongside The Krypton Factor’s remake and let’s never hear it (or hear of it) again.

In terms of the format, you’ll be pleased to know nothing’s gone from the original. Host asks celeb question, celeb gives answer, contestant asked to agree/disagree, right answer gets squares, get three in a row or five squares overall to win each game. There’s even the mystery square in round two. In terms of the calibre and type of celeb, not a lot’s changed there either. The one difference is that there are two regulars; comedians Tim Vine and Joe Wilkinson. Vine was a no-brainer, his one liners being the glue which holds the show (theoretically) together. Wilkinson’s non-sequiturs and stream-of-consciousness delivery does a similar job.

As for the rest of the celebs, it’s all similar stuff to what we’ve seen before. You’ve got a litany of comics (Keith Lemon, Hal Cruttenden, Rob Beckett), an actor or two (Antony Cotton), a sports star (Denise Lewis, Andrew Flintoff) and general ITV personalities (Loose Women). From memory the second edition of Celebrity Squares would feature a lot of Australian actors, mainly because that was about 95% of ITV’s output at the time.

The one big change, however, is on the time limit. Yep, not just 45 minutes, but a whole hour is dedicated to this (including commercials, of course). Does this affect the machinations of gameplay? Not really, they just carry on. But there is a new round: the Square Essentials. Bizarre name admittedly, but this round gets each chosen celebrity to tell an obscure fact about themselves, with the same rules applying. 4/10 for originality, but it adds a much needed injection of pace to proceedings.

Round four is another mystery square round, while round five is…wait for it…double money! Eugh. Well okay, it has a use in this case – to stop the show from getting ‘over before it’s over’ syndrome. Let’s explain more.

Analysis: Double money and ‘over before it’s over’ syndrome

Over before it’s over syndrome is a cardinal sin for game show producers. It does exactly what it says on the tin – the contest is over before the end, in some cases several minutes before the end. The resultant effect is that audiences switch off – or execs worry that audiences will switch off. And don’t think they won’t – it’s why Regent Productions didn’t let multiple winners back onto Fifteen to One (allegedly), or why 100% convinced multi-winner Ian Lygo to “retire” after 75 straight wins (allegedly).

The classic example of ‘over before it’s over’ was Treasure Hunt. If there was seven minutes on the clock and the contestants still had three clues to get, you knew they weren’t going to win, and you had to sit through seven excruciating minutes watching them lose. Or, you could tune in next week.

Lesser examples, though still prevalent, are Pointless and Countdown. In the first round of Pointless, if the first couple got two wrong answers and the others had answered correctly, however high the score, then you know the round is over. Pointless does get around this however. Contestants can still get a pointless answer and add an extra £1,000 to their winnings, so it’s worth playing on. Countdown cannot get past its format foible however; if a contestant is more than 20 points ahead with the final numbers game and conundrum to go, the final five minutes of the programme are a mere formality.

One show which traditionally avoided this problem, albeit to some criticism, was The Krypton Factor. Each round in the Krypton Factor was scored 10-6-4-2 for first, second, third and fourth. The final round, general knowledge, offered 1 or 2 points for each question in 75/90/100 seconds dependent on the series. This wasn’t a universally popular move, especially when it was moved to two points. It’s not fair if someone wins from miles behind – it’s not a fair reflection on the show, the critics say. But it’s simple as to why it was done. If someone’s more than 10 points ahead, then we know they’ve won. Why watch until the end? See A Question of Sport for another reason, when they moved to a generic On the Buzzer rather than the more popular One Minute round, which had a set number of questions.

Double money is still the laziest device in game show history, folks.

Add a bit of Paul Lynde to the proceedings

Perhaps the most major change throughout the new show are the answers themselves. Where have all the zingers gone? Example from 90s Bob Monkhouse version:

Bob: Which TV show has a theme tune called Approaching Menace?*
Leslie Grantham: It’s not Beadle’s About, is it?

Zing! Yet the answers on here are all fairly stock and straight. It’s the build up and lead in which try to fill in the laughs – q.v banter – with Davis occasionally throwing in a gag after the answer for colour. There are lots of innuendo laced questions (Where on the body is the wenis? How long was the first floppy disk? Which Jane Austen novel has the characters Mr Pratt and Fanny?), but missing the zingers is missing a real trick.

A quick note on the cosmetics: the set design is rather tastefully done, and marvellously they’ve kept in one of my favourite bits of design on any game show; the lighting of the squares of the final game. The final game is simple: name nine of one topic in 30 seconds (in this episode, Shakespeare plays) to win the star prize. As the number goes up, the squares light up. At its best it’s wonderfully tense – they’ve taken a little bit of tension out here, but who’s complaining.

Conclusion

The overall impression of the Celebrity Squares comeback is one of a solid effort – no glaring fuck ups, all runs quite smoothly, kept all the good bits including the tension of the end game. We really wish there would be more zingers, but Warwick Davis does a good job of holding things together.

As it’s an hour long show there’s probably a bit too much back and forth with the celebrities, and a little bit of shouting ‘get on with it!’ at the TV screen – but the truth is, if celebrities are at the core, then it’s difficult to get wrong. It’s kept the good stuff intact, it’s not diminished the role of the contestants, and it’s got good enough writing at its core to keep it going – even if it is a bit overlong.

* Mastermind, game show trivia fans.

Remembering … All Clued Up

It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon, sometime in the early 1990s. The roast is being cleared away, and you’re skitting and flitting about the house to avoid washing up duties. Snippets of conversation are heard in between rooms, all to a inexorable backdrop of the Top 40 and the strains of Mark Goodier (or Bruno Brookes, but this isn’t really important). Bloated and replete, you eventually sit down on the sofa and turn on ITV.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your host…David Hamilton!”

Ah, All Clued Up. Preying on the can’t-be-arsed-to-move Sunday roast-filled viewer since 1988. Until its unfortunate death in tandem with TVS in 1992, it sat neatly among the weekend schedules. But should it have been picked up after TVS went down the toilet? What were its good and bad points?

Let’s start this by saying the Sunday afternoon snoozy view of All Clued Up is a misnomer – for one series, anyway. Series 1 was a Saturday job, while series 2 and 3 were Sunday weekly and series 4 was (shudder) daytime.

The show was basically a rip-off of the American show ‘The $1,000,000 Chance of a Lifetime’, in which contestants who went through three bonus rounds eventually won…well, you can guess. On All Clued Up, contestants could win a £3000 star prize, along with money they’d won along the main game. Man, weren’t we all glad the IBA restrictions on game show prize money were finally lifted?

The format itself wasn’t a bad one. Contestants (two married couples) played head to head to solve puzzles on the giant screen. A toss-up question, whereby a word was revealed letter by letter, had to be answered to gain access to solving the main puzzle. Each word in the toss-up puzzle was a clue to the main puzzle, which was a well-known phrase or saying.

It’s basically the same routine as Catchphrase, another TVS gem, but infact, the closest relative to All Clued Up, format wise, is Wheel of Fortune.

Guess which one’s the stinger?

The jewel in the crown of All Clued Up was the (bloody impressive to this impressionable young reviewer) giant keyboard. The letters used in the phrase were in play and lit up accordingly, except one – the dreaded stinger – which was the red herring, and would cost contestants their turn. Wheel of Fortune has similar, of course, with the bankrupt sections of the roulette wheel.

The stinger varied, from an obscure letter such as X or Z, to the likes of A and E; the latter seemed rather evil, while the former were often picked by contestants with the thinking of ‘well, they wouldn’t make it that obvious!’…they then sat down, knowing a whole nation was saying at their TV sets ‘why the bloody hell did they pick that?’ It should be briefly noted here that All Clued Up had a nice pantomime element which many game shows lacked; a big boo always rang out when the stinger was revealed, and gasps rang out when contestants picked it.

Rinse and repeat until time ends. It was double points in the second half, which is the laziest device in TV game show history, but aside from that there was little deviation in tempo and game. You could occasionally get a bit of comedy from Catchphrase from contestants’ answers which weren’t exactly well known sayings – the poor lad in Family Catchphrase who famously uttered ‘The Worm from Earth’ springs to mind here – but All Clued Up had none of that. Sunday afternoon telly, you see.*

The couple who won the main game went on to the nailbiting final game, whereby they had to identify six toss-up clues in 50/60 seconds (yep, a 50 second end game, you’re watching a TVS production alright). Dependent on which series you were playing, this meant a number of different outcomes:

– In Series 1 and 2, you could win £1000 on the first programme, then gamble £500 in order to win £3000 on the second, along with other money you’d accumulated on the way
– Series 3 had a flat £2000 end game prize alongside money accumulated on the way, but no gamble the following show
– Series 4 exchanged pounds in the main game for points (cheap bastards!) and had an end game cash prize of £500 (really cheap bastards!). Well, it was daytime.

The category is ‘Cathedrals’, not ‘Places I’ve watched my football team lose’

One very noticeable aspect in the end game is the letters are revealed more slowly, which is Not A Good Thing. You hear rumours of Bradley Walsh on The Chase asking questions more slowly to the contestants than the chasers on the final chase, but that’s relatively negligible. Here, it’s blindingly obvious. Aside from that, however, there aren’t many quibbles on the format.

However a point does raise itself: should the main puzzle have had a diminishing prize structure? In other words, the more you reveal of the puzzle, the less you win?
It’s always been the format flaw Wheel of Fortune contestants can exploit: if you know the puzzle early, instead of answering it you might as well rack up the points. Yes, there’s the dreaded ‘bankrupt’ option, or ‘lose a turn’, but there’s a 1 in 12 chance you’ll hit the black hole. That’s not enough of a risk. It always looks more impressive when a contestant answers a puzzle early, too.

All Clued Up doesn’t suffer the same problems though. Instead of playing a set number of puzzles, you just keep playing until time’s up, so if you know the puzzle, answer it and we’ll crack on with the next one. Plus the toss-up puzzles are more of an even contest than Wheel of Fortune, where you simply have control of the board – although if you know the puzzle and are just trying to rack up points, you arguably have more idea of what the clues might be. There is just a niggling sense of bigger prize puzzles rewarding failure, though.

A note on the host: David Hamilton hosts with aplomb, adding volume and pitch to his voice as more letters are revealed to add tension, culminating in the main puzzle whereby it’s almost an exasperated cry of ‘X, SOLVE THE PUZZLE!’ He’s good with the contestants, and also doesn’t fluff his lines during the timed end-game, which is a cardinal sin for game show hosts. It’s a surprise he didn’t host more, a few bits and bobs aside.

In a way, All Clued Up served its purpose across four series and there was no need to make more. It didn’t help, either, that they cheapened the deal massively for its final series. Could it come back? Certainly – although as a sleeper daytime hit, not a weekly edition. Oh, and lose the second half-double points device.

Take a look at this edition here, from series 2, which features arguably the best contestants in the show’s history.

* We tell a lie. One series 3 episode had the phrase ‘CHE–E BOOK’…and the contestant buzzed in to answer ‘cheese book’, whatever the hell that is.

Reminiscing over the TVS and Action Time stables

TVS and Action Time. Two names that would stir fond (ish) memories in anyone who watched UK game shows in the late 80s and early 90s. Some shows were both TVS and Action Time productions, while many other successful shows at least had one. Both died in unfortunate circumstances, but let’s remember the good times first.

The TVS studios, in Maidstone, Kent, would see a flurry of game shows in its admittedly heavy list of original programming. This amount of programming would be significantly reduced by the time Meridian replaced TVS in ITV viewers’ hearts, but more on that later.

There were some good, some bad, and some indifferent, but the truth was, you could spot a TVS game show a mile off. Let’s use four TVS/ITV shows as our examples: All Clued Up, Catchphrase, Concentration, and The Pyramid Game, with 3 Reasons You’re Watching A TVS Gameshow:

1. Names on the end credits. Normally one wouldn’t notice, but the likes of Carly Hopkins (Aston Designer, since you ask – ask your parents what an Aston is), Steve Uzochukwu and the unfortunately named Dick Burn (note: not the Father Ted character) were unmissable. Plus don’t forget the theme tune: your average TVS show will usually have an opening tune composed by Ed Welch (although his greatest creation however remains the unassailable Quiz Wizard, the immortal theme tune to Central’s Blockbusters).

2. Identi-formats. Here’s a simple failsafe idea for a gameshow. Have two contestants battle it out against each other, then the winner has to complete an end game, usually involving puzzles from an electronic board, in order to win the big prize. For some reason, the end game always had a 50 second time limit. Why not a round 60? There were subtle variations; All Clued Up only let married couples play, in an Ask the Family stylee, whilst The Pyramid Game had an end game at the end of each half, yet Catchphrase and Concentration’s formats were near identical.

3. Getting a voiceover guy to present. This was A Weird Thing That Happened In The 80s. Bit tenuous, yes, but Pyramid Game had Steve Jones as its host throughout its run. Big name I know, but you’ll recognise his voice – not least from the British Comedy Awards. Similarly, Concentration’s first series was hosted by Nick Jackson, serial v/o man, with one of his voiceover credits around this time being the return of Celebrity Squares. We’d mention that David Hamilton, All Clued Up’s host is mainly known as a radio man but that might be just a bit too tenuous.

Action Time, on the other hand, was responsible for lots of things; Mr Chips; Stephen Leahy’s huge bank balance; the continued presence of Andrew O’Connor on our television screens. Equally, here are 3 Ways You’re Obviously Watching An Action Time Game Show:

1. Sets ‘R’ Us: UKGameShows, in the entry for little-remembered Channel 4 mid 90s quiz Backdate, sums it up best: “All Action Time shows (made in their own studios) look very similar – game-board, if there is one, in the background, host sat at the left, contestants behind podiums at the right. Lots of their shows have been based on exactly the same studio layout.” For Backdate, add Catchphrase, Chain Letters, Crosswits, Jeopardy, Wheel of Fortune, and so on – although interestingly, Action Time’s version of Trivial Pursuit (presented by one Tony Slattery) had it the other way round.

The typical Catchphrase set: host on left, game board in middle, contestants on right.

The typical Trivial Pursuit set. It’s like looking into a mirror, isn’t it?

2. Haven’t I seen you before? Yep, plenty of UK game shows had started out life in the US. The Mark Goodson-Bill Todman stable of Family Feud (Family Fortunes), The Price is Right and Blockbusters aside, a clutch of Action Time hits originated from America. Basically, see above: Crosswits was a spin-off of The Cross Wits which hit US screens 10 years before the UK version. Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune were long successful across the pond. Fact: Alex Trebek presented Classic Concentration from 1987 to 1991.

3. Haven’t you got a job to go to? While Action Time delved very well into the primetime market, this author more fondly remembers its daytime stuff. Lingo, Lucky Ladders and Crosswits were aimed at the 9:25 giro cheque viewer, while shows such as Jeopardy and Spellbound were on the fledgling Sky One, so due to lack of programming could have been transmitted at any time, really. Fact: Action Time also produced Cluedo, famously hosted by Richard Madeley and Chris Tarrant and set at Arley Hall, Cheshire. Stephen Leahy, now at Ludus after Action Time went up the spout, used the same location for his new show, Watching the Detectives.

Of course, there’s a bit of overlap involved here. And if you were watching Catchphrase, you had the undeniable pleasure of watching something that was both Action Time and TVS. But what went wrong?

The death of TVS

TVS, like its much lamented friend Thames Television, died on December 31 1992 in the grisliest franchise battle in UK television history.

To this author, it seemed so unfair. By 1987 TVS profits had reached £14.4m, making it bigger than Yorkshire Television in terms of ad revenue. The following year, that number was £21.8m. Everything was going so swimmingly.

Step forward the Broadcasting Act of 1990. Mrs Thatcher’s government sent through legislation which…

“…changed the system of licence allocation for the franchises now legally known as Channel 3: the previous system where applicants needed to show good programming ideas and fine financial controls was replaced by highest-bidder auctions to determine the winner of each ITV regional franchise.”

To save companies just spunking money at bids, the powers that be added a quality test, as well as a ‘business plan’ criterion which assessed whether a bidder could keep the payments going sustainably.

Some regions had it dead easy. Scottish Television bid only £2000 and took the Central Scotland region unopposed. Central did likewise, remarkable given its status as one of the ‘Big Five’ franchises alongside Thames, LWT, Granada and Yorkshire.

Granada retained its licence with a bid of £9m – its opponent North West Television, bid £35m but was disqualified on quality grounds. It was a similar story with LWT, whose opponent London Independent Broadcasting (£35.4m) also fell by the wayside due to quality. Yorkshire had to shell out £37.7m to keep its licence.

Yet for TVS and Thames, it was the end of the road. TVS made the highest bid out of any franchise, a whopping £59.8m, but controversially got disqualified on the business plan ruling.

The TVS Wiki page takes up the story:

“TVS passed the quality threshold – indeed, as the incumbent broadcaster it could hardly have failed to do as failure would have called the ITC’s own regulatory regime into question. The lucrative nature of the TVS contract area made it one of the most desirable franchises in the UK.

“Despite preparing vast amounts of audience research, programming proposals and an extremely comprehensive application document for the ITC, the TVS board calculated that it needed to outbid all opposition to retain its licence. This resulted in the “bid high or die” strategy – in which the management calculated the highest possible bid that TVS could possibly afford.

“The ITC announced the results of the franchise battle by releasing simultaneous faxes to the contending companies. Two companies had passed the so-called programme “quality threshold” – TVS and Meridian Broadcasting. Of these two TVS’s bid was the higher – and therefore should automatically have been awarded the licence for the South and South East of England. However the ITC asserted that there was now a third criterion, a requirement that the ITC could confidently expect the winning company to sustain its annual payments throughout the entire period of the 10-year licence.

“The ITC used this to foot-fault TVS and claimed that the company would not be able to sustain the proposed £59 million a year licence payments. The ITC then awarded the licence to Meridian Broadcasting who had bid only £36 million per year.”

Thames’ Wiki page tells a similar hard luck story:

“On 16 October 1991, Thames lost its ‘Channel 3’ franchise to broadcast to London during weekdays from January 1993 as a result of losing the silent auction used to renegotiate the new ITV franchises. Thames bid £32.5M while Carlton Television placed a bid of £43.2M, and since both Thames and Carlton were deemed to have passed the quality threshold, the franchise was awarded to Carlton for having submitted the higher cash bid.

“Some commentators consequently speculated that Thames had fallen victim to a ‘government vendetta’, whilst others felt that the auction had been won fairly. Carlton chose to commission the vast majority of its production content from third-parties, and rent studio and broadcasting space at LWT London Studios.”

So the ITC was satisfied that Carlton could sustain itself, but not TVS. If Carlton third partied everything, why was their bid £10m more than the incumbent? The conspiracy theorists were out in full force, with the “government vendetta” referring to the recent Thames documentary ‘Death on the Rock’, which painted the government in a less than flattering light.

Admittedly, more concerning to the bigwigs was Thames’ attitude to industrial relations – a technicians’ strike in 1975, a series of local disputes in the 1980s, a big strike in 1984.

TVS was advised, amidst a lack of explanation from the ITC, that a legal campaign would offer a very slim return at a very high cost: the final nail in the coffin.

Alas, the Carlton plan was a sign of things to come: money before quality, and diminishing returns on independent programming.

Thankfully, the last junction of Thames Television is on YouTube for posterity, with chief exec Richard Dunn facing the cameras to thank the viewers personally before the heartbreaking closing montage.

1 January 1993 was a pivotal day in the history of the third channel, and one which many will argue it has never recovered from. Maybe Dunn – who died suddenly in 1998 – did have the last laugh, with talkbackTHAMES producing recent hits such as The Apprentice, Britain’s Got Talent, QI, and The X-Factor.

But can you remember any Meridian-produced gameshows? All this author can think of is a new series of Jeopardy (having been previously on the Thames and TVS roster) and the turkey In the Dark, presented by Julian Clary.

This, sadly, tells you all you need to know.

Addendum: TVS, independent to the end, opted out of the generic end-of-1992 ITV programming, instead choosing to broadcast its own death throes piece called ‘Goodbye To All That’. Its gameshow output lived on in the form of The Family Channel, launched by International Family Entertainment (IFE), the company which bought TVS for £56.5m in January 1993. Perhaps TVS’ valuation wasn’t so far off the mark after all.