If you want to be cynical about it, it’s just another attempt at the “non-smiley” game show, a ball that was set rolling by The Weakest Link all those years ago, and while that programme has most certainly outstayed its welcome, nothing has ever come close to what made its early outings so enjoyable.

The crucial thing imitators all missed about those early runs of The Weakest Link was that, although players had to vote each other off, the majority of contestants were shown to be fairly uncomfortable about doing so, and it was rare anyone would take any pleasure in others’ misfortune. In other words, they were shown as perfectly nice people plonked into a hostile environment. Moreover, both thrived on the dichotomy created by the need to work as part of a team, while looking out for number one.

The clones, when they came, failed to recognise and incorporate these key characteristics. The worst offender, Dog Eat Dog, actively encouraged contestants to slag each other off, which not only made for uncomfortable viewing, but also led to the viewer finding contestants so repellent they didn’t actually want any of them to win. Furthermore, whereas we knew the nastiness of The Weakest Link was all pantomime villainy, we were given the impression Dog Eat Dog‘s lot were genuinely not very nice people.

This is where Pokerface hits its stumbling block.

The show reverses The Weakest Link‘s formula of “nice contestants/nasty host”, and sees the ever-chummy Ant and Dec trying to make the viewer care about players who are engrossed in an intentionally hard-nosed game. The problem is that, when a game rewards the very same character-traits that make someone difficult to like, there isn’t that much scope to encourage the viewer to root for a favourite. This was difficult enough to ignore in previous editions, but when we reach the final – with its line-up of the winning (and therefore, logically, the most hard-nosed) players from the earlier episodes – it adds up to a piece of television which is very difficult to enjoy.

Most curiously, the format of the show includes an initial “grilling”, where players can cross-examine each other as they reveal a mixture of true and false information about themselves (complete with captions to tell viewers how much of their story is for real). Whereas this is clearly meant to enable us to build our sympathies with the players, it has precisely the opposite effect on me. With the grilling being part of the game, the players are already in their inscrutable mode, rendering everything they say redundant.

Likewise, after each round of questions, players are allowed to talk to each other in an attempt to bluff, double-bluff, and manipulate opponents into believing they should fold, and thereby voluntarily leave the game. Again, this usually involves one player adopting an overly aggressive and arrogant persona, and once this happens, the others usually follow suit. Again, the result is any sympathy I have slowly ebbs away to the point where I hope there is some method built into the game mechanics that allows nobody to win anything at all.

Of course, another key aspect to The Weakest Link was that the prize money – although theoretically good – was in practice fairly paltry. It was easy to root for people when you knew they were more-than-likely there for the fun of the game. With Pokerface, and its million pound jackpot, the spectre of greed looms large. Not only do I start to feel the players see the game as simply a means to an end, but I begin to dislike the programme for offering such massive rewards to people who are being shown in this rather unpalatable light.

In the end, as I admitted earlier, I did watch the series through to its conclusion, so it must have been doing something right. Maybe it was to do with the hilariously pompous face that Ant would pull every time Dec read from the autocue. Or perhaps there was something more. There were occasions when, thankfully, the game seemed to be played in a more honourable way, but more often than not, the whole thing degenerated into something of an ignominious fiasco, with a group of contestants I simply hated.

Despite Ant and Dec’s attempts to humanise the players, this simply did not work, as the participants remained “in character” throughout. Perhaps a more successful strategy in this respect would be to interview contenders in isolation so we can hear more of their true personalities. As it was, there was always a sense that the hosts knew they were fighting a losing battle.

I suspect Pokerface is a format that would play better in other countries, such as the USA, where contestants’ attempts to win at all costs are generally regarded as more commendable. To make the game truly work for British audiences, I suspect you’d need to drastically reduce the prize money, and up the fun quotient. Huge prizes may draw in viewers, but they can all too often ruin the spirit of the game.

I’ve had to conclude the reason I didn’t like Pokerface as much as I expected is the same reason I’ve never really enjoyed The Apprentice. Quite simply, I don’t like anyone in it. I want to see nice people being rewarded on television, not hard-nosed cynics and bland executives.

Maybe I’m overly romantic in feeling TV should provide a means to reward people for niceness, modesty, and selflessness. But, remember, the premise of The Weakest Link and The Mole was that nice, genuine, gifted people would triumph over the oppressiveness of the game. Pokerface, as it stands, rewards those who make others feel inadequate, and that is something I simply can’t forgive.

Well, hooray for me. As of Saturday January 20, the show is back for a new, weekly run. Apparently, last year’s winner, Sarah Lang has bought a new conservatory.

So there I was, courtesy of ITV publicity, facing off against Natalie Jamieson from Radio 1, Beth Neil (the Mirror), Benji Wilson (Radio Times), Neil Midgley (Daily Telegraph) and Rachel Richardson (News of the World). (The latter was the NOTW golden ticket-sporting journalist who was trying to get into the Big Brother house, fact fans).

Taking place at Fountain Studios, near Wembley, first up we were briefed on how the game works. So: Six players answer multiple-choice questions on a computer screen, each correct answer equating to moneyin your pot (with the amount per question going up each round, natch). You know how well you’re doing, but you don’t know how anyone else is getting on.

At the end of the round, Ant and Dec quiz everyone on how well they’ve done. The aim of the game is to talk up your performance, banging on about how easy it was, and how much money you’ve accumulated. You’re also invited to poor scorn on your fellow players and punch holes in their testimonies. Backbiting done, you then leave your consoles and walk up to a podium (which rises out of the ground, again, natch) upon which is a huge red button.

At this point in the game, you have the option to whack the button and “fold”, walking away with what you’ve accumulated thus far. If no-one does so within a 10 second period, then the person with the lowest total is disqualified, and – of course – they lose everything.

So, that’s the game. In practise on the day, though, with the cash totals substituted for scented candles, not one of us ever felt the urge to fold, meaning the thing progressed as pretty much a straight general knowledge competition. We still did the bitchy comments though (“I just thing Benji’s trying too hard …”) and acted like idiots.

Throughout, Ant and Dec were – well – Ant and Dec. Matey, a little bit giggly, gossipy … they laughed at our jokes. As for how I got on, well, I made it to the final “face off” with Natalie off of Radio 1 (Telegraph bloke was the first to fall, which was heartening). Emboldened by the fact I’d seen off Benji Wilson, who was bluffing with tremendous panache (in Spanish!), I could sense victory. Alas, come the reveal, Natalie had a good five grand or so more than me in the bank and I went home … with nothing. Well, I’ve kept the name badge.

TV’s controller of entertainment, Duncan Gray, is happy to admit the channel is staking a lot on the format. “The show is a very important part of our summer jigsaw,” he says.“It’s very unpredictable, and it takes the game show genre on fromDeal or No Deal?”.

The big announcement at the launch was that Ant and Dec will be hosting a game show which they’ve devised themselves: “We came up with the idea about two years ago and tried it out on our friends – we played it out in a room upstairs at our local pub”, they said, in matching grey jeans.

The programme’s called The Con Test and, from the clip of the pilot edition we saw, looks more than a little like Robert Kilroy-Silk’s Shafted, only, this is Ant and Dec, so it’s going to be a smash. That, and, Simon Shaps was banging on about how it’s the only game show around where someone is guaranteed to actually win a million.

The premise seems to be that competitors try and out-bluff each other as to how many questions they’ve got right. I’m not quite sure of the actual mechanics here, but there’s a big red button they can press if they lose their nerve and decide to bail out .

We’ll all be watching it, I tell you.

The contestant call number is 0906 4 717273. Beware: if you ring it, you have to spend 20 seconds “selling yourself” down the phone.

The great thing about these events is seeing all the new stuff first, but the truly awful aspect is the tightly packed huddle of TV listings bods, which turns the whole thing into a “stop and chat” minefield of epic proportions. I tend to revert to my student years, fix on a scowl and avoid making eye-contact until I can find a seat in the corner.

Today’s big do was ITV’s spring season launch, with Simon Shaps taking his turn at reading off the dual autocues and coping with the lack of applause. Actual details are embargoed until tomorrow, but there’s only really one stand-out story anyway (apart from the fact that they seem to have unilaterally dropped the word “Celebrity” from the titles of all their many celebrity shows). I guess I’ll post about that tomorrow.

Rather excitingly, though, Ant and Dec were in attendance. Halfway through, when Shaps made a crack about his “glamorous assistants” coming up on stage to help him unveil a phone number (about which, more anon), I rather expected Nick Elliot and that old woman who looks like Virginia Bottomley to trot out. But, no, it was PJ and Duncan in person! Ant’s quite fat actually.

They traded a few quips with Shaps, and then shuttled off again. It was a shame they hadn’t been allowed to do the whole presentation, because that would have been great. “I’m Declan, and I’m presentin’”/”Well, I’m Anthony, and let’s talk ITV!”.