Part of BBC4′s Electric Revolution season, it’s provisionally scheduled to air on BBC4 at the end of September. The press release reads…

Following in the footsteps of Screenwipe and Newswipe, Charlie Brooker’s Gameswipe will poke fun at the world of video games and its relationship with the media.Video games continue to be looked down upon by other media and Gameswipe aims to bring some equality into the mix by illustrating how games can be just as dumb or brilliant as TV and movies. The one-off, 50 minute special will premiere during the BBC’s forthcoming Electric Revolution season.

Charlie Brooker comments; “It’s good to be doing more ‘Wipes‘ for BBC4. I started my writing career penning video game reviews, so Gameswipe effectively sees me coming full-circle: it’s evolution in reverse basically. Expect pixels, joypads, some of the world’s weirdest games, celebrity cameos and the occasional sound effect.”

Comedian Dom Joly ventures into the online gaming world and does his best to wind up hardcore gamers as they relax with their favourite games. Other contributors include Graham Linehan and Dara O’Brian.

Electric Revolution, a season of programmes giving viewers a unique insight into how developments in technology have shaped our lives over the past 50 years and charting the rise of today’s globally-linked, instantly-gratified digital culture.

Charlie Brooker’s Gameswipe is produced by Zeppotron, an Endemol Company.

The one-off, 50-minute programme will “analyse and expose the inner workings of the videogames industry” and air as part of BBC4’s forthcoming Technology season.

Charlie Brooker says: “It’s good to be doing more Wipes for BBC4. I started my writing career penning videogame reviews, so Gameswipe effectively sees me coming full-circle: it’s evolution in reverse basically. Expect pixels, joypads, some of the world’s weirdest games, celebrity cameos and the occasional sound effect.”

It’s also been confirmed Newswipe will return for another six-part run.

“The return of Newswipe is both exciting and daunting,” says Brooker, “because it nearly killed me last time. Maybe this time it’ll finish the job. It’s hard to say precisely what we’ll be featuring, because I can’t predict the future, but hopefully we won’t be picking apart coverage of either an intercontinental nuclear war or a global ebola outbreak. Whatever happens, we’ll be staring at it with amusement and horror.”

And, finally, Charlie Brooker’s Screenwipe will also return at Christmas for a one-off review of the year.

20 GOTO 10

RUN

(View the trailer  here)

In many ways, it feels like this is the collaboration and project that was always meant to be. Crooked House, written by Gatiss and directed by Damon Thomas is described as “a haunting tale of three sumptuous ghost stories woven together for a spooky Christmas treat.” The cast includes Julian Rhind-Tutt, Gatiss, Philip Jackson, Lee Ingleby, Jean Marsh, Samuel Barnett, Daniela Denby-Ashe, Anna Madeley and, in his debut dramatic role, Derren Brown as the mysterious Sir Roger Widdowson.

Gatiss says: “Ever since I was a child and thrilled to the BBC’s classic MR James adaptations, I’ve dreamt of sending a festive shiver down the nation’s spine.

“I’m delighted to finally have the opportunity. A fantastic cast and crew have worked incredibly hard to fulfil this long held dream.”

Maybe it just seems odd because she’s holding big question cards instead of the usual slightly smaller playing cards, or I’m too used to seeing her flouncing around searching for or justifying word definitions. Either way, she’s a more genial and forgiving questioner than Jeremy Paxman in the most intellectually stimulating half hour quiz show since University Challenge.

Nice logo!

Victoria Coren at the desk

Actually, the closer touchstone is probably the impossibly difficult questions found in the 1970s heyday of this sort of thing in Top of the Form or Ask The Family. The format is fairly simple. Two teams take it in turns to try and work what links four words, pictures or pieces of music before the time runs out. The twist is the answers require some lateral thinking; in one round you’d need to know the pilots of the first three Thunderbirds and in which order so that you could name the fourth one, or what Bertrand Russell looks like and that he unsuccessfully ran for parliament.

BBC4 have been experimenting with this kind of programme for years, their equivalent of Radio 4′s Round Britain Quiz. But unlike Never Mind the Full Stops (too smug) and The Book Quiz (too exclusive), Only Connect enlists shlobs like us rather than celebrities, and there is a genuine competition with a title at the end. The teams are collected together through some shared interest – in the opening episode that was knitting or, um, not being psychologists. Each is asked to introduce themselves at the opening, and fans of nervous banter were well served by a moment in which Vicky asked one of the contestants if the jumper she was wearing was homemade, only to be told that it’s not called that any more.

Perhaps my brain’s gone soft after years of watching quizzes based on multiple choice questions, but much of the time the answer was hidden in the dark recesses of my brain, but only seemed to surface at just the moment after it had been given on screen. I did know Shakespeare’s seven ages of man, but floundered when faced with the final round in which the names of series of mathematicians were flashed up, sans vowels and with the spaces messed up. In other words, imagine A Question of Sport if the contestants were being asked about Ayn Rand rather than Ronaldo. And instead of a numbers board they had to choose from letters of the Greek alphabet. That last bit’s not a joke, by the way, in this quiz you really did need to know your alphas from your zetas before even being given a chance to ponder anything.

Which is probably why I enjoyed it so much. It requires a modicum of intelligence, not just from the viewer but the contestants themselves. Beat that In it to Win It.

The film documents the actors’ frosty relationship, with both each other, and the show that simultaneously made and ruined them. It’s beautifully shot, cleverly written (“The father’s just a feed, really”, Corbett tells his wife) and – well – just loads better than the BBC recent trails make it appear. 

Catch it on Wednesday 19 March on BBC4.

The following was, received from Sean Power, presumably the same Sean Power who plays Marty in BBC2′s Lead Balloon. It’s in relation to John Phillips’ review of the show, which you can read here.

John Phillips,
My agent just passed on your lame review to me. Im not going to waste my breath on you too much , because to be honest your opinion means fuck all to me. Arm chair critics are just that- fat fkn morons sittin in front of there tv screen with there laptop on their round tummy and wearin dirty clothes with questionable stains on them. But- because you ‘ put it out there’ I m gonna give it back to you. Firstly, having been in comedy scene in NYC for 7 years in the 80′s I worked with both Richard Lewis and Larry David- you muppet -and can guarantee they’d back me in telling you – to get a fkn life and ‘move on’ with all the fkn curb refs, or the office. If you didnt know, dopey, there were a whole lotta shows that came before them… and set a sort of pre-ce-dent from” whence they did take .”
Second- you really such an expert on sit coms; their structure, character development, ‘one liners’ try writing one- no better- write one now and get it produced- Then you can put your opinioins out on the web
Thirdly- watch who you insult in your ”’reviews”’ because it could come back and seriously bite you on the ass. Let ,me be more clear- if I see you walkin down the street-I will personally bite you on the ass.
Now not be unfestive- seeing as its xmas eve here in L.A.
Happy Holidays

We’ve not been in touch since, so there’s no reflected glory here when I say the first episode – which I’ve just watched on preview – is absolutely fantastic, dealing with the rise of The Dandy and The Beano. To have a documentary which pays full respect to Davy Law (Dennis the Menace), Leo Baxendale (The Bash Street Kids), Ken Reid (Jonah) and Dudley D Watkins (Desperate Dan) feels like a real treat. The likes of Kev O’Neill, Paul Gravett (who gave my book a lukewarm review, if memory serves) and Bob Paynter (original Whizzer & Chips editor) are on hand to provide talking head duties, while the show is framed in an ace “moving comic-strip” style. 

One of the best things on telly this year. 

EDITOR’S VOICE: The first episode can be seen on Monday September 10.

Janine’s in touch by email. Can I do next week? I can only do Thursday. The week passes. The following Monday I’m told it looks like it’ll be Thursday 3 May. Wednesday, and a venue is fixed. A huge house in Highgate. “If you could arrive at the location by 5pm that would be great as we have to be out of there by 6.30pm. It is someone’s home and they hire it out to film crews now and then.”

I arrive at 5.10pm. This place is seriously imposing. Tiled floors, enormous ceilings and wall-to-wall sideboards. With sealed packets of chocolate mints on them. “You’ve come up in the world since your modest West London flat in the 1970s!” jokes Sophie, the director.

I sit down, and she begins to talk. As the filming lights come on, she gradually fades in the blur. Janine’s guarding the door to the room, which swings open of its own accord. I feel for her, as she’s dispatched to tell the home-owners to stop walking around their own house. 

And then we get into it. 

We start with Postman Pat, a show I’ve little interest in. I say a bit, the director then says, “Thank you.” I say another bit. “Thank you. Now I just want you to say …” and she tells me what to say. Phew, the cynical ’80s, eh? The ’70s weren’t quite like this. 

But we warm up, and while always rather stilted, we get into something that feels a bit more like a conversation. “I want you to say that American shows had a negative impact on British children’s programmes in the 1980s”. “Well, I don’t really think they did,” I reply, taking a stand mere minutes after disgracefully parroting back some guff she’s fed to me about a Pigeon Street episode I’d never seen (they open a vegetarian café, apparently). But, here, I’m salving some small sense of dignity. I’m not just going to say anything. Although I do then concede that perhaps buying in episodes ofHe-Man dissuaded British broadcasters from commissioning their own fare. I’m guessing that bit won’t make the cut, but my musings on Pigeon Street‘s eatery probably will.

Things are getting sticky, though. There’s a helicopter buzzing overhead, the family’s dog is barking, and worst of all, they’ve got the temerity to use their own creaking back door. “Surely there must be another way round they can use?” says the director. “Janine, can you ask them?”. “Well,” says Janine, “it’s after 6.30pm already. That’s probably their guests arriving. I don’t think I can”. I agree, but I don’t say anything. Who am I in this? “In fact,” says our slightly bristling researcher, “you really need to push through these”.

“Make your answers shorter,” I’m told. And then we get into talking about Grange Hill. I retread my Gripper comments from the ’70s shoot. We talk about Press Gang and I attempt – from memory – to quote Paul Cornell’s praise for it in the Guinness book. “Thank you”. Then, with everyone getting itchy, we talk about kids appearing as themselves on telly. I say some stuff the director really seems to like, and she wants me to expand. Meanwhile, I can feel the whole room is now of a-twitch.

Then it’s over. It’s 6.55pm. My cab’s been waiting since 6.25pm and now he’s threatening to go. Janine gets me to sign the release forms, and then – Jim Bowen-style – counts out cold, hard cash into my hand, before we race to catch the cab. But the front door’s locked and we can’t get out.

That’s how I ended up ruining your show again, everyone. Sorry.

That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy being asked for my opinion on something, who doesn’t? But I wouldn’t have done it if there wasn’t cash involved. This is what renovating a flat in North London does to you.

If memory serves, it was the show’s researcher, Janine, who got in touch. She’d mailed me following up on my connection with TV Cream. Thinking about it now, I’m not quite sure how she got my address… I guess it doesn’t take much. 

After a long chat about children’s programmes in the 1980s (“What was The Adventure Game?”), my details were then passed on to the producer of the 1970s episode – Paul Dwyer. He called me the following week and quizzed me on production personnel from the decade. I flummoxed, but he seemed happy and asked if I’d be willing to go on the programme. For quids. 

It’s Tuesday, 17 April. I’ve told the team they can’t film in my flat (see above about renovating), so they end up using Janine’s modest but nice place in West London. I’m taxi’d there, and arrive to see a bean bag and a plate of homemade chocolate crispy cakes laid on. This is the 1970s. It turns out I’m a lot taller than Janine, and so the beanbag is dispatched and I sit on the floor – my head now safely in shot. 

I start chatting to Paul, and it’s all very amiable. We slip into filming, and continue in the same form. The whole thing feels pretty natural, apart from the odd prompt. “01?” he says, “811 8055″ I chirp back, already seeing myself squidged into a montage of other inglorious types doing the same (which doesn’t actually happen in the finished show). “Could you sing the theme tune to that?”. “No”. 

We go round the houses, and the crew seem to laugh at some of the things I’m saying. That’s dangerous, because it’s getting a little heady. I’m steadily becoming Rob Deering. I take a sip of water and spill some down my front. Joe Public won’t clock it. I talk at length about Gripper Stebson, trampling on topics that should be covered in the ’80s edition. I say the same things again in exactly the same way when the neighbours above make a noise. I make poor cracks about Roger Price. I don’t, however, badmouth crap CSO. I don’t ask what anyone was on when they made their shows. 

The results, as you will have seen, were heavily edited. In fact, happily I wasn’t in it all that much, only really covering for the times the production team couldn’t get anyone interesting to talk about a certain show. But, hands up, even on the day, I was a fat-necked, balding, smug twat. For money. 

Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about the 1980s, because I’m in that too. In the meantime, I’m sorry for ruining your show.