Eggheads

Quiz shows used to be so simple:  Question, answer, prize. Question, answer, prize. Gamble? Ooh, you’ve lost the lot.  Let’s rub into your face just what a Thicky McThickerson you are by showing you just what you could have won.

People showing off became boring (unless they’re showing off properly on University Challenge), and so it was decided that quizzes ned a gimmick.  Who Wants to be a Millionaire? offered you the chance to win £32,000.  The Weakest Link asked you to argue with your team mates and pick on them for getting questions wrong, even if they’re about 16th century literature and you’re just a student that wanted to argue back with Anne Robinson for a laugh.

Eggheads (BBC2) is a welcome return to the olden days, when quiz shows were far simpler.  A team of five members of Joe Public take on the titular team in a series of one-on-one, head-to-head rounds, with the loser being eliminated.  Any survivors, plus one person who is given a bye into the final round then face off in a team vs. team head-to-head.

The format is simple and the show amiably hosted by the improbably spelled Dermot Murnaghan (Incidentally, if you google his name for the purposes of spelling it properly, the first match is his fanmail address.)

The real hatred can be reserved for the Eggheads.  A team of dicks that turn the normally placid into schoolyard bullies, desperate to destroy the nerds.  An army of smugness, sneeryness and smarming, radiating from the faces of five know-it-alls.

Kevin is undisputably king of the club, and amazingly manages to be the least offensive. His all knowing power is casually dispensed with a knowing smile and a nod. Kevin knows.  Oh boy, Kevin knows.  He could, in fairness, not bother with the rest of his team and answer all the questions himself.  He’s too humble for that, old Kev.  Don’t call him Kev though, he doesn’t like that.

Marginally more irritating is ultra-posh Judith, the first person to win the top prize on Millionaire.  She’s at home answering questions about how swan tastes and kicking plebs, but it’s a surprise she doesn’t have someone on her payroll answering questions for her.  Ask her about anything normal – the price of milk, what a “hoodie” is or who Jeremy Clarkson is and she gets a deer-in-the-headlights look and you can almost see her brain trying to escape out of the back of the set: “You’re on your own with this one, love.”

Hamster-faced Daphne may appear a sweet old lady, but she takes peverse pleasure in correctly knowing things that baffle most of her generation – she’s equally at home with iPods and Wayne Rooney as she is knitting and smelling of piss.  Crucially, what makes her the best of the Eggheads is that she finds it very difficult to hide her disdain for CJ, the weakest of the team.  Her desk-pounding frustration and open laughing at his answers make her a joy to watch while he’s getting in a twist over the highest free-standing mountain in the world.

CJ, a former model who takes himself far, far too seriously (he lists “ Winning the 2005 ‘The Simpsons’ British Quiz Championships” and “Travelling to more than 40 countries” on his CV) which is entirely at odds with how rubbish he is.  The contestants can barely conceal their fight to take him on, earning themselves a place in the final round when he rolls his eyes in defeat, because he’s let himself down. Again.  Frustratingly, he does have some ability in his guesswork, and since it’s a one in three chance of guessing correctly anyway, he answers far more than he deserves.

Which leads us to Chris, a human dulux puppy who cannot wait to regale the contestants with any piece of information he knows, no matter how tenuously associated with the question.  The office joker that looks for any excuse to say, “this is an ex parrot” or “he’s not the messiah, he’s a very naughty boy”.  A frustrating git of a man who laughs at his own jokes, and, even more annoyingly, at things that aren’t even jokes: “haha, well it’s far too early for Elvis, The King, since he wasn’t even born until 1935.”  It’s not funny, you berk.  He’s also into trains.  Weirdo.

A team of five smug, self-satisfied berks that associate a photographic memory and willingness to spend night after night remembering Simpsons characters, Ryder Cup winners and the wives and children of every monarch mean that they are an incredibly strong force to be reckoned with.  Until they get tripped up by a question about skateboarding.

Wouldn’t want to sit next to them at a dinner party, would you?