Posts Tagged With 'Members of the public mentally jousting for miserly prizes'

“Number 10? Maggie’s Den!”

Posted in A bit of business by TV Cream | 2 Comments »

Our Monkhouse master card!
Are you enjoying the re-runs of Bob’s Full House on Challenge as much as we are? (That’s every Saturday at 8pm)

In all seriousness, it’s probably the least-dated TV show from the 1980s, a quiz that zings along with plenty of ‘funny putty’ from Bob, likeable contestants, brilliant music stings and fun questions. Plus the nerve-shredding final Golden Game Card.

So, now, roughly 30 years on from when Radio Times was supposed to print play-along-at-home cards (for some reason, the plan was scuppered), TV Cream is bringing you its very own Bob’s Full House bingo game. See the image above. Simply cross off any time any of the items are referenced in the show. Have fun! And remember, our doors are always open for you.

NB. As the repeats continue on Challenge, feel free to suggest your own categories we should add to our Monkhouse Mastercard
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Bob’s Full House

Posted in B is for... by TV Cream | 7 Comments »

LORD MONKHOUSE’s finest hour, aka How To Design The Perfect Game Show. This one had it all. On would come Bob in a smart suit with some nifty gags and instant catchphrasery: “In bingo lingo it’s clickety-clicks, time to take your pick of the six!” Contestants arranged in novel four-booth system, reminiscent of PUNCHLINES. Booths fronted with bingo card, with game split into three rounds – light corners, light middle line and light whole card by answering questions. Winner of each round gets to choose wonderful/tacky prize from array revealed by rotating cylindrical screen (always a His ‘n’ Hers bathgown set on offer). Last round was pacey, quickfire stuff, with regular updates on progress from the Monk (“Dave NEEEEDS three…Sharon, you NEEEEEED seven…”). Central to the show was that most 80s of devices – the rotating structure (see BLANKETY BLANK, BULLSEYE). Here we had a three-sided construction, with the Monkhouse Mastercard, Golden Card Game and Bob’s Full House logo on each side. Golden Card Game oozed excitement with the holiday destination was gradually revealed letter by letter (“Let’s hope it’s not Bognor!”) Plus ever-present danger of being “wallied” if you got a question wrong. Everything you’d ever want from a game show and the perfect shopwindow for Bob’s genius. Fact.

You might also want to see... Have you met my mother?.

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TV Cream’s Puzzle Trail: Clue 9

Posted in A bit of business by TV Cream | No Comments »

The hook for today’s Puzzle Trail square is the man who’s crossed more channels than P&O.

Having ably demonstrated in that Channel 4 documentary on Wednesday that he’s still fully compos mentis (unlike the rest of Channel 4, which is full of compost mentis), we turn to Brucie for the ninth of our Puzzle Trail clues.

CLUE 9

To get today’s grid reference, take the first letter of the surname of Brucie’s female assistant during his return stint on the Generation Game, then couple that with the number of times Brucie has left ITV to work for the BBC. And once you’ve done that, we’ll see you in the bar for a drink afterwards.

Read clue 8

Read clue 7

Read clue 6

Read clue 5

Read clue 4

Read clue 3

Read clue 2

Read clue 1 and download your own TV Cream Puzzle Trail map

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Interceptor, The

Posted in I is for... by TV Cream | 6 Comments »

“I LIKE IT!” The playground talking point of the year, one of the most preposterous things ever bundled out in the name of “action adventure” television, and absolutely fucking ace.

In full: ANNABEL CROFT introduces two joe ordinaries dressed in romper suits with strange backpacks, one of which contains prizes beyond avarice, but both of which can be locked for good with one zap from the titular blackguard, aka SEAN O’KANE: a leather-clad ‘copter criminal with a penchant for making bird noises, somersaulting over farmyard gates and gurning. Contestants get split up then have to find their way back to each other using “natural landmarks” which then helps Annabel locate them on her map from within her “base in the beautiful county town of Ludlow!”, from where she then navigates them towards rendezvous. All the while the Interceptor hovers above chasing the goons hither and thither, joshing with pilot “Mikey”, before jumping out and donning a disguise to lure them towards his giant hoofer doofer of doom.

The dementedness was summed up by the chicanery that was played out between Annabel and the players at the start of each episode, and which lasted at least a dozen minutes. First came the business of getting the programme title wrong (“Welcome to another edition of Interceptor”), or drastically underselling the whole endeavour (“Welcome to what we HOPE will be another exciting edition of Interceptor!”) followed by a 12-second history lesson (“I’m here in the grounds of the gorgeous Woburn Abbey, with occasional examples of beautiful masonry dating back to the mid-15th century!”), then a painfully convoluted explanation of what the game involved.

Highlight of this section was where Annabel purported to “mix up” the two packs the contestants carried on their backs, ostensibly so they didn’t know which contained money and which was empty, but which always followed the same pattern ending in a pointless bit where she simply stood the packs on the ground and turned them back to front then back again, like that made a crucial difference. Not forgetting the bit where the team were supposed to ask, in a state of dumb wonderment, why they had to always keep their backs to the Interceptor, to which Annabel muttered something about him being able to lock their cases, which triggered the contestants’ response “And why does he do that?” word for word every bloody week. The whole palaver was then topped off by Annabel making great play of waving the contestants off in their helicopter when they were already blindfolded and couldn’t see a fucking thing.

Contestants themselves were always a) posh b) stupid and c) prone to infantile levels of hysteria at the merest whim. One pair almost blew it completely after one of them promised to meet the other “at the bridge” but neglected to say he’d actually be waiting under it. Then there was the hopeless naive toff (“There’s a lovely pheasant – shame I haven’t got time to pluck it”) who forgot how to climb a ladder. Best of all, one decided to talk back to the Interceptor, to wit: “Come on then! Come on then!” Suffice to say the entire series was an absolute embarrassment of riches – and tanked big time, never to return.

You might also want to see... Chained.

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Bullseye

Posted in B is for... by TV Cream | 14 Comments »

DESPITE LATTERDAY APPROPRIATION BY lazy stand-ups, this is still a sleeping giant as far as fondly-remembered classics go. To wit:

1) Funky opening Chas ‘n’ Dave/pub rock paean and three types of title sequences down the years, each featuring show icon BULLY in cartoon form (dressed in classical red-striped darts shirt):

a) Early years depicted The Bull pub sign with Bully incorporated into it. Suddenly static Bully moves, taking a quick glance to the right to check no-one’s looking before jumping out of sign and landing on ground with loud tympanum noise. Bully makes way into The Bull, with ‘Darts Contest’ banner over door, then proceeds straight to oche, throwing one dart and landing bullseye. Cartoon busty barmaid serves pints in background. Customers not fazed by presence of huge bull playing darts.

b) Second and most memorable sequence (used from around 1986-92) showed Bully leaving The Bull apparently after said darts match and hopping into cartoon coach, giving lift to six stereotypical fat darts players who all sat on the back row and gave a genial thumbs-up to the camera. Action turned sinister, however, as coach suddenly inherited flying ability and entered bizarre world of darts iconography, with giant metal-wire darts numbers and dartboards spinning past the windows. Human darts players pointed and looked worried. Rush of the blood to the bovine head caused Bully to press “ejector seat” button on dashboard and launch himself clear of the coach, thankfully grabbing onto the flight of a massive dart and presumably sending the six players and bus plunging to their deaths. Bully ended up flying directly into camera, and screen exploded in shower of dartboard sector dividers.

c) Show underwent radical repositioning in 1993: final and most laughable sequence changed tack completely but seemed to continue story laid out in previous two incarnations, with Bully apparently gaining unauthorised access to Bullseye studio. Mad Roger Rabbit-style adventures commenced with Bully excitedly bounding down the studio steps, sending adjacent audience members flying. Other shots included Bully giving show compere JIM BOWEN a big kiss (cue wavy-line face from Bowen), and Bully seemingly losing it and hanging on to the Giant Rotating Dartboard Structure (of which more later) whilst it spins really fast. Bully’s breakdown completed by a big leap-frog across the studio, causing Bowen to dive for cover.

2) Show gets under way. Early years saw studio adopt standard game show layout of audience out of shot behind camera and BULLSEYE logo hanging on back drape. Aforementioned compere Bowen emerges from underneath another standard device of rising vertical partition, sporting dartboard sector design. Later series saw studio topography reversed with audience in full view along back of studio, and Bowen appearing to rapturous applause from top of flight of steps (the ones Bully pegged it down during his “episode”). Here Bowen would stand mid-flight and deliver some tired opening gambit, usually revolving around a clearly made-up viewer’s letter. Also in later years Bowen would at this point introduce darts-shouter and nominal scorer TONY GREEN, normally involved in hackneyed sketch to much derision from audience, for some reason.

3) Quick burst of theme music then onto the contestants, three teams of two people – one darts player (standing up) and one non-darts player (sitting down). Chat to punters, ask about anecdote. Bowen: “Super, smashing, great.” (though he insists he never said this).

4) At last the first round: CATEGORY BOARD. Non-darts players (or NDPs) take up positions at satisfying circular desks, darts players (or DPs) occupy stools along the back. Bowen moves over to show’s central device, the Giant Rotating Dartboard Structure, first showing aforementioned category board. Clockwise from the top: Faces, Places, Sport, Showbiz, Affairs, History, Books, Words, Britain, Spelling. Other series featured Food, General Knowledge, and Bible (amazingly). Each of the ten sectors was further divided into sections denoting various amounts of cash, ranging from large £30 sectors round the outside to tiny £100 sectors near the middle, and the famous £200 “wildcard” bullseye marking the centre. NDP nominates category, DP aims one dart at chosen topic. “Questions get more difficult” as Bowen warns us – first is worth £30, then £50, then £100. Get the dart in chosen category, and money equivalent to value of sector is banked. If incorrect category hit, get asked a question on that subject “but there’s no bonus”. Category light goes out once question is asked. Category cannot be used twice – “The ones that are lit are the ones you can hit”. Green stands by board and verifies categories. If unlit category is hit, throw is illegal – “No, that’s in Places, and the category’s gone”. Play continues to next team in that instance. Bonus light available for attempting someone else’s question, if they got it wrong. Out of time signalled by cartoon Bully appearing in corner of screen and mooing (little puffs of steam shoot out of his nose). Spelling answer confirmed by cartoon Bully walking along bottom of screen with dictionary, leaving trail of letters behind (word “dictionary” written on back of book, for some reason). Bowen’s questions stored in large rotating dartboard/table thing. Round ends after each team gets three goes. In earlier series at this point, say goodbye to trailing team, and hand out prizes – money acquired, set of Bullseye-branded darts and the famous BENDY BULLY. In later series, they just carried on with all three teams.

5) Second round: IT’S POUNDS FOR POINTS. Rotating Structure turns to reveal regulation-type dartboard. Just get as many points as you can in three darts. Team with best score gets to answer £100-difficulty question, if correct they win DP’s total in quids. Bonus light available again here for chance to win team-mate’s total. Do this three times. Team with most goes through to final (first round scores carried over). DPs hardly ever got 180 – 41 was more common score. Each sub-round accompanied by wonderful musical pieces – standard theme tune, odd “middle-eight” part then variation of theme. After the three goes, say goodbye to losing team or teams. Hand out prizes as above, along with extra Bullseye silver tankard (silver goblet for lady contestants), and the money they won – Bowen either takes wad of cash from jacket pocket and starts to count it out (“Ten, twenty, thirty…see you after the break…forty, fifty…”), or promises that “it’ll take two minutes to count this out, see you after the break.”

6) Classic era (1981-92): Cartoon Bully plays darts and writes ‘End Of Part One’ on darts blackboard. Post-Year Zero (1993-5): Bully takes ride on Giant Rotating Dartboard Structure as it spins really fast again, accompanied by the not-so-catchphrase: “Back in a couple of throws!”.

7) Adverts.

8) Classic era: Cartoon Bully writes ‘Part Two’. Post-jumping the shark: GRDS spins round again.

9) Bizarre sub-section of show: TURN OF THE PROFESSIONAL. Bring on proper darts player (eg ERIC BRISTOW, KEITH DELLAR, CLIFF LAZARENKO, LEIGHTON REES) and ask them to throw nine darts. If they score under 301, pounds equivalent to total score given to charity of remaining contestants’ choice. If more than 301 achieved, double prize for charity. Incorporated fairly unnecessary leaderboard structure for prize of actual foot-tall Bronze Bully. Leader at series’ end retained Bronze Bully until next season. Ask guest about recent tournaments, provide banter, etc.

10) Final round: BULLY’S PRIZE BOARD. Rotating Structure changes again to special nine-prize, 17-sector board. Aim is simple: “Keep out of the black, in the red, nothing in this game for two in a bed”. Red sectors contained prizes, black contained nothing. Cartoon Bully appears from centre of cartoon prize board, and points at each number to reveal prize (except he splays out gloved right hand towards number 4). Bowen & Green accompanied, Green shouting: “IIIIIIIIN ONE!” “IIIIIIIIIN TWO!” etc. as Bully pointed, culminating with “AND BULLY’S SPECIAL PRIZE!” (reward for landing the bullseye). Bowen described risible prizes as they went along, usually in form of rhyming couplet (eg “This’ll keep you clean…it’s a washing machine” or “There’ll be laughter and whoops as you go through hoops with this fantastic croquet set”). Most ridiculous prize ever noted: a “Lazy Suzy” (ask your gran). Nine darts available, three for NDP. Thumbs-up from cartoon Bully and quick burst of theme if bullseye was hit.

11) After, Bowen lists all prizes won then offers chance to gamble those (“Your money’s safe, the money you won earlier, your darts and your tankards are safe, and the £280 going to the hospice, that’s on its way after the show…”) for mystery prize, “what’s hiding behind Bully” (or vertical partition). Limited time to decide – in fact, only “the time it takes the board to revolve” with scary space-type sound similar to ‘Lucky Star’ by Madonna in background. If they want to walk away (“Well Jim, we’ve had a smashing day, and we’re happy with what we’ve got”), wheel on second team and offer them chance to gamble their money (and Bendy Bully, no doubt). If they refuse, bring on third useless team and offer same. Task: get 101 on regulation board with six darts, “three for you, and three for you”, NDP first (Point of order: How did they know that the non-darts player was really a non-darts player? Did they use a lie detector or something?). Tense as you like, with dramatic drum-roll overlaid and Green & Bowen urging players to “take your time, there’s no rush, take as long as you need”. If they win, rush over to ‘Bully’, lift partition and reveal boat/car/caravan on giant dartboard, wheeled in by Bullseye roadies. Play exciting “party mix” of theme with various whistles, whirls and squeaks added. Bowen bundles winners into prize and insists they try it for size. If they lose, play standard theme quietly and reveal prize anyway (“Let’s take a look at what you coulda won”). Sometimes prize was a holiday, necessitating partition to reveal Quantel-swoop of various stills from destination, extensively described by Bowen, with the payoff: “All for the throw of a dart!”.

12) It’s all over. Bowen’s head appears within cartoon dartboard at The Bull, credits roll up darts blackboard as Bowen rounds off at great length – eg “a Vauxhall Nova, beautiful economical little motor car, beautiful little example of one of Bully’s star prizes! We did the rooting, you did the shooting! What a night you’ve had on Bullseye! Watch us next time on Bullseye! Could you do it, at home, with the pressure on? These lads did! See you soon! You can’t beat a bit of Bully! Byeee!”. Cartoon Bully throws three final darts (scoring 17, two missing the board; must’ve sunk one too many), then closes doors on dartboard. Central Production logo painted onto outside of dartboard doors.

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Gambit

Posted in G is for... by TV Cream | 1 Comment »

Two "married couples", yesterday THIS AND SALE OF THE CENTURY were the only times the rest of the country ever willingly sat down to watch Anglia’s spinning antique knight. Both were unashamedly glitzy affairs (oodles of shining prizes and swooping camera shots in the opening titles; joyous parping theme tunes; whooping crowds of best-dressed pensioners out on an excursion to Norwich; the mind-rattling mellifluous voice of announcer John Benson) but GAMBIT was the one that had the edge in the play-along-at-home stakes thanks to it being, well, pontoon on the telly. With FRED DINENAGE in the big chair. “You got a problem there?” he would bark at nattering contestants inbetween rounds. Nation fell silent in terror. “It’s a quiz show for married couples” Fred explained, matter-of-factly, at the start of every episode. Said twosomes sat at brown desks in front of tiny audience. MICHELLE LAMBOURNE fulfilled Dopey Female Assistant duties. Giant oversized playing cards, perhaps borrowed from JOKERS WILD, wielded in attempt to add up to magic 21 and bag that elusive dinner plate warmer.

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Going for Gold

Posted in G is for... by TV Cream | 4 Comments »
"People are coming..." "...and everyone's trying"

PAN-CONTINENTAL LATE 80s joke, mainly thanks to ludicrously ambitious Euro-harmony raison d’etre, and much-derided sub-Wogan compere HENRY KELLY. 

Original incarnation offered holiday to Seoul Olympics as first prize (cue animation of Olympic mascot swirling a ribbon thing on his head), later series strained to maintain golden theme, hence much ballyhoo about trips to pan for gold in the Australian outback, mentioned by Kelly about seven times a show (and repeated the next morning). Bland as hell, how-many-cliches-can-we-fit-in theme: “The heat is on, the time is right, it’s time for you, for you to play the game, people are coming, everyone’s trying, trying to be the best that they can, when they’re going for, going for GOLD!” The hapless Kelly usually blathered about the 28 nations taking part (handily splitting Britain into England, Wales, Scotland, Northern Ireland, Guernsey, Jersey and the Isle Of Man) but no-one ever seemed to mention that the Brits had the built-in advantage of having English as their mother tongue. 

Perennial, never-changing format as follows: seven multi-national contestants span round on rotating desk for elimination round, perched behind seemingly metaphorical mushroom-shaped buzzers. Klaus from the Cafe Hag commercial (“Ah, Henry Kelly! Schmells good!”) turned up every day. First four contestants to get a question right progressed to the “first round proper” (eh?), the detritus spinning off to try again tomorrow. Inevitable Wednesday afternoon battle for final place between two remaining contestants invariably cast xenophobic “come on Malcolm, beat the kraut/wop/frog” air across living room/hall of residence/sixth form common room. Four qualifiers bantered uneasily with host: “I am big fan from Imran Khan” quoth one Eastern European cricket fan, while Kelly vouchsafed that “Going For Gold is so popular in Belgium”. Quite. Remaining contestants answered questions worth one, two or three points, with first three to eight progressing to one-minute “specialised subject” round: “I am not so good with the geoh-graf-ey!”. Best two went”head to head” in absurdly complex final, featuring celebrated “Where am I? I am a river in northern Africa” questions as time ticked away “in the big four zone”. Daily winners went on to Friday final, and the whole thing went on for months and months and months. 

Shown as part of Reg Grundy double bill after NEIGHBOURS in early daytime schedules, while no-doubt huge airfare bill for BBC was mitigated by pathetically cheap perspex trophy for daily winners. Effect on European brotherhood deemed negligible. Kelly went on to mispronounce composers’ names on Classic FM before being ousted by Simon Bates and his gossip network.

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Quiz Night

Posted in Q is for... by TV Cream | No Comments »

ONE-TIME NORTH WEST-ONLY, then nationwide, shamblathon hosted by the mighty STUART HALL (in contractual obligation mode). Supposedly like a pub quiz, but with all the fun removed, it featured two teams of pub blokes, very similar to MASTERTEAM, even down to having “hilarious” team names, eg “The Middleford Munchers”. Half-an-hour of the usual average-intelligence questions, with no “In A Spin”-style shenanighans to divert attention from its blandness. Studio was just like a pub; Hall was the “landlord”, see, and his desk had beer pump handles on it, like a real pub.

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Crosswits

Posted in C is for... by TV Cream | No Comments »

IMPOSSIBLE TO DISLIKE monochrome-gridded semantic chicanery helmed by first by BARRY CRYER (in mid-black, mid-white hair phase) then the great TOM O’CONNOR. Each one of two members of the Great British Public (“His hobbies are trout fishing and… wait for it… crosswords!”) would play alongside either COLIN BAKER or JENNY HANLEY and answer fiendishly worded “Daily Mail Tea Break Quickie”-type clues. “Underwater banana swims backwards to Turkey, perhaps?” In practice, most clues wouldn’t have taxed an above averagely Mensa-rated type (“The king is dead wood – about 12 inches”) and sometimes the solutions themselves would be clues to another, prize winning, key word. If the pleb spotted the link after the first clue was solved, they won a telephone or a weekend in a foot spa, that sort of thing. Harmless fluff, expertly shepherded along by our hosts.

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All Clued Up

Posted in A is for... by TV Cream | No Comments »

WORD GAME (as they so often were) favoured mainly by senior citizens (both watching at home and playing in the studio). DIDDY “DAVID” HAMILTON presided (they always “presided”, to use a sub-It’s A Knockout term popular at the time), first asking you to find out the word revealed letter-by-letter (“A!…beep!…T!…beep!…G!…”), then offering the chance to find out letters of a hidden phrase utilising a Land Of The Giants huge keyboard that contestants had to run up to (physical element – good) and press keys of in humiliating ordeal (especially when they got the only-revealed-to-audience “stingers”). Players’ buzzers seemed hilariously fragile. Audience always went “Woooo!” if there was more than two occurences of the chosen letter.

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Strike it Lucky

Posted in S is for... by TV Cream | 1 Comment »

Before the fall“TOP, MIDDLE OR BOTTOM?” Screen-striking family Monday evening gameshow fun ably helmed by TROUBLED ENTERTAINER MICHAEL BARRYMORE at his most bendy-legged and condescending to the elderly, at times barely including questions and prizewinning opportunities for all the banter. Did anyone ever finish the end game successfully? Rubbish revamp in 1996 changed the name to STRIKE IT RICH to supposedly better emphasise the generosity of the prizes. “What is a Hot Spot not?”

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Krypton Factor, The

Posted in K is for... by TV Cream | 5 Comments »
A middle management mirthquake Ted from Accounts shows everyone back at the office he can wield more than a damn bulldog clip

SUPERLATIVE GREY CELLS weeknight workout, hosted by the unflappable Uncle GORDON BURNS in a quest to find “the UK’s superperson”. Anyone could enter, so long as you had an IQ of 200-odd and could run a marathon on a wet and windy day in a colour co-ordinated jumpsuit. Contestants were always middle management types – computer analysts, personnel supervisors, recruitment consultants – from middle England, and who were put through rounds in never-changing, uber-strict order:

1) MENTAL AGILITY: “What day is ten days before March 3rd” quizzed Gordon through headphones to aid concentration.

2) RESPONSE: Contestants must land a massive fuck-off expensive piece of aircraft – in a simulator, “thankfully!”

3) OBSERVATION: Everyone sits in chairs and watches a short film, before getting the old SCREEN TEST “what happened then?”, “What did he have in his hand?” stuff. Initially these were archive clips, but later became more full-blown specially-staged comedy skits with the likes of TONY SLATTERY and KATE COPSTICK or STEVE COOGAN doing impressions.

4) PHYSICAL AGILITY: Over “a course that demands respect” on the dampest bit of the Lancashire moors available, the contestants try their luck on an adventure playground-style combination of balance beam, tunnel, tarpaulin, climbing net and the obligatory “death slide” finale into (hopefully) a pool of shitty water.

5) INTELLIGENCE: In which the contestants have but a couple of minutes to assemble a fiendishly-complicated perspex model while Gordon provides viewers with whispered asides (“The key to solving the whole puzzle is to start at the bottom”)

6) GENERAL KNOWLEDGE: Your bog-standard buzzer round, only with each contestant in starkly-lit profile for added tension.

Completing the majestic mix was the way everyone got a “Krypton Factor of…” instead of points, and the imperial theme tune by The Art Of Noise.

A dose of Gordon's grin; it's good for what ails you "I must ask for complete silence from the audience"
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Sale of the Century

Posted in S is for... by TV Cream | 6 Comments »

ParsonsIT CAME from Norwich. Some called it the Quiz of The Week (especially announcer JOHN BENSON, later poached by Jonathan Ross). NICHOLAS PARSONS was the salesman-presenter. This orgy of pre-THE PRICE IS RIGHT consumerist caprice began on Saturday 19th February at 6.05pm thusly: “Quickfire quizmaster Nicholas Parsons poses questions worth £1, £3 and £5 which earn the contestants the right to bargains worth up to £1,000 in any one show – provided they know the right answers. If you can’t resist a bargain, then this is the show for you. This week’s lucky trio of contestants are Mrs. Pat Beaver, a play group supervisor from Salisbury, Wilts.; Bob Bennett, a stock controller from Sudbury, Suffolk, and John Hayes, a schoolteacher rom Allesley, Coventry. And the major prizes they could win are a £1,000 sports car offered at just £95; a £333 colour television set at £30; a £720 continental bedroom suite at £70, and a fortnight’s family holiday in Cyprus, worth £560, at £55. Some sale!” Musical interludes (“we’re having a heatwaaaaave!”) didn’t help to up the level of sophistication; your man at the organ, PETER FENN.

You might also want to see... Gambit.

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Bruce Forsyth’s Big Night

Posted in B is for... by TV Cream | 1 Comment »
"Are you receiving me in Grampian?" "If all else fails, tickle the ivories my loves"

OVER TO MICHAEL PALIN for a bit of context here…

“Thursday, June 29th 1978

…Drive through the rain to TV Centre. Terry Hughes disappears, and some time later, when we’ve finally got the BBC video machine to work (this takes four or five people, secretaries, window cleaners etc.), Terry emerges from Jimmy Gilbert’s office and, in an urgent whispered aside, tells us that Bruce Forsyth has just signed for ITV, and that Jimmy is in a state of utter confusion and trying to write a press release.”

Yup, as part of the great Beeb exodus of 1978, Brucie followed Morecambe and Wise to ITV, leaving behind the conveyor belt and the old scoreboard to helm this massive fuck-off Saturday night varietyfest which promptly collapsed faster than a tier of Pink Floyd audience seating. Amidst the wreckage were Cannon and Ball in what was supposed to be their first major television gig, but they kept being bumped from the line-up until, presumably, the producers were convinced they’d thought up more than two gags. The operative word in this programme was ‘big’, and as such each edition was 90 minutes long. Brucie acted as a glorified continuity announcer, promising Saturday night entertainment like we’d never seen before…which turned out to be – gasp! – comedy (a revival of The Worker with Charlie Drake and a TV adaption of the Glums with Jimmy Edwards and Ian Lavender, neither of which anyone under 40 was arsed about). And then there were – yikes! – fun (the Pyramid Game with Steve Jones and Sofa Soccer, later revived on Noel’s House Party, introduced by Anthea Redfern). Plus there was – wow! – music (Sammy Davis Junior and the UK Disco Dancing Championships). Finally there was – erk! – mayhem (regular guests Pam Ayres and Rod Hull and Emu). Inevitably after a few weeks the entire population of Britain had decided to stick the now Larry-helmed GENERATION GAME, and Brucie started using each show to moan about how people had “expected glitter to come out of the set” and take up 15 minutes’ hoofing time to berate people for not watching. Soon shunted to 6pm wilderness, axed after one series and Bruce was handed his cards. Do you see what we did there?

So how did TV Times trumpet the arrival of this televisual landmark? Why, with a WORLD OF SPORT-style “see panel” sidebar all of its own, and a hastily-scribbled invitation to view, penned by some poor hack “in the style of Bruce”, of course…

“Saturday – that’s the day I want you to keep free in future. What do you mean, you do already, for shows like World of Sport? You can still watch that, my loves, and all your other favourites. I’m talking about Saturday evening at 7.25, and the show I’ve called – modestly – Bruce Forsyth’s Big Night. We’re aiming to make it the fastest moving, most fun-filled package on television. You’re going to meet international stars, such as Sammy Davis Jr and Dolly Parton. Then I’m inviting Charlie Drake along every week to repeat his success in The Worker. We’re also recreating The Glums, and the days of wireless – radio, to you. And we’ve the comedy duo Cannon and Ball. What’s that? They’ll go with a bang? Let’s get it straight – I do the gags, you join in with the games, OK? We’ve a number of those, including Teletennis and The 1000 Pound Pyramid, and Anthea is going to help me with them. Also appearing will be the poetess Pam Ayres, and Rod Hull and Emu. And as it’s a family show, we’re inviting the kids to Beat the Goalie, and to play the main roles in Doctors and Nurses, with stars as patients. As you can see, you’re going to do well, every Saturday night…no, dear, it’s not Saturday Night Fever. No, I’m not John Travolta. It’s Bruce Forsyth’s Big Night. And it’s going to be nice to see you, to see you nice!”

"I think the chin could have been a bit bigger, mind"

You might also want to see... Cannon and Ball.

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Pass the Buck

Posted in P is for... by TV Cream | No Comments »

BRIEF BUT not brief enough Wednesday night quizzer, fronted by GEORGE “PIGEON STREET” LAYTON. Two couples were given a question by George and then had the option of answering or, erm passing the buck, to their partner, somehow. Not on for long, but there was a Christmas celebrity special, featuring stars and their other halves, including DENNIS WATERMAN, RULA LENSKA, SIMON WILLIAMS and his missus.

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Catchphrase

Posted in C is for... by TV Cream | 4 Comments »

LIKE A PETULANT BOOMERANG this keeps coming back, although we’re sure that they’ve done every “phrase” in the English language about ten times now and they’re throwing in stuff like “Walking Down The Street”, like that’s a catchphrase. Anyhow, 80s-Sunday-night-just-after-HIGHWAY vintage is your main concern, with sometime blue comic ROY WALKER asking you to “say what you see” in response to a badly-drawn computer image of a phrase or term, Dingbats-style. Animations starred the inimitable MR. CHIPS, a bizarre Chad-like character, about whom Roy would repeatedly ask, “What’s Mr. Chips doing?” Neon tube lights abounded on the set, and yes, we had that all-important ROTATING STRUCTURE which was compulsory for game shows in the 1980s. This was the biggest, though, with the contestants perched precariously near the edge, and then – as if that wasn’t enough – a second rotating structure on the left which served no purpose whatsoever. Show’s own catchphrase is above, along with “here’s another catchphrase”, “five seconds, here we go”, “it’s good, but it’s not right” (which Walker always said even if Joe Public couldn’t have been more wrong) and after the adverts, “it’s fast and furious in the Ready Money Round!” when show employed oft-used tactic of doubling all the prize money. Piccies accompanied by instantly recognised jingles: the upbeat one, the slightly quirky one, the desert/Middle Eastern one etc etc. Final was working out catchphrases against the clock, leading to many hilarious wrong answers from panicking punters (though the heart beat-style clock music didn’t help). Buzzer noise was grand, as was title sequence, with us flying through some weird maze on another planet.

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Trick or Treat

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SHORT-LIVED SATURDAY night “people show” from the South Bank, fronted by MIKE SMITH and JULIAN CLARY. The pair proceeded to accost various members of the audience to play humiliating GAME FOR A LAUGH-style pranks. Audiences proceeded to switch off.

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Box Clever

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EMLYN HUGHES graduates from A QUESTION OF SPORT in order to host would-be cerebral early afternoon effort utilising BBC Micro graphics with 3D marbles in boxes. Except Emlyn just presents it, while the questions are asked by some pre-Vorderman professor-type woman. Amount of enjoyment equalled by amount of viewers.

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Concentration

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BIZARRE ROBOT-MAN NICK “who hell he?” JACKSON was the original frontman for this remember-where-you-saw-the-prizes-and-match-up-a-pair-and-reveal-bits-of-Pippin-comic-style rebus win-a-pressure-cooker-themed Friday night quiz. Tortuous stuff, not relieved when BOB “WAS” CAROLGEES took over host duties in later series (minus Spit the Dog, sadly). Studio set was shit: slidey bits of card about five years after BLANKETY BLANK. Show was taken in all seriousness, unlike BLANKETY BLANK.

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Three Little Words

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INITIALLY DON MOSS, then ventriloquist RAY “LORD CHARLES” ALAN, fronted this wordy afternoon quizfest, the latter “aided and abetted” by his glamorous wife BARBIE (hmm). Couples conveyed mystery words to one other, by way of three related clue words (see?) For instance, if the mystery word was Egg, you might say Chicken, Boiled and Cup. Never far from becoming enervating. Adjudicator – Sue Anne Snook.

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