Ordinary lives – Extraordinary journeys: Television entertainment from game shows to reality TV

Introduction: Thinking about texts

This article defends the thesis that game shows were a key influence in the development of reality TV, and understanding of the latter depends on our knowledge of the former. The thesis is developed in two parts. Game shows are a living paradox of media and communication studies: they rank among the most popular TV programmes yet remain the least analysed by the discipline. This oversight has created a knowledge gap that the first section addresses. What are game shows made of? What are the core elements that distinguish them from any other genre? This research identifies these elements and analyses the way they combine to form stories that are unique, yet formatable and repeatable.

The second section examines the relationship between game shows and reality programming. While it is often assumed that game shows are of no cultural significance, this article argues that they played a central role in the evolution of reality TV. It highlights the similarities between the two genres and demonstrates that the latter adopted many of the storytelling techniques pioneered by the former.

Game shows are rarely analysed and when they are it is in isolation from other genres. Thus, this research seeks to make a double contribution to media and communication studies: it addresses a knowledge gap and thinks about game shows in relation to other types of programmes. It aims to take game show research out of its silo by thinking about the genre in the context of the development of a televisual discourse.

From a theoretical perspective, this research applies a sociological approach to discourse on genre theory (Chalaby, 1996). A genre conceived as discourse is a historical and intertextual category. Texts remain the object of analysis but are approached through the discursive practices that shape them and the discourse they are part of. This article focusses on the storytelling practices that characterise various genres, relying on the practice-oriented branch of narrative analysis as developed by Claude Lévi-Strauss, Vladimir Propp or Tzvetan Todorov. Key texts include The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers (Vogler, 1998), The Hero with a Thousand Faces (Campbell, 2008) and, for television, Into the Woods: A Five-Act Journey into Story (Yorke, 2013).

This article uses a mix of primary and secondary sources. Primary sources consist of interviews with UK-based TV executives and producers conducted over many years while researching TV formats. It took me several years to connect the dots and realise the significance of this material, hence the time gap. Only after a long incubation period did I read these interviews from a fresh perspective. Secondary sources include the two most influential texts written on the subject (Fiske, 1987, Whannel, 1992), more recent scholarship (e.g. Hoerschelmann, 2006; Holmes, 2008) and works written by practitioners. This article is written from a British viewpoint. Illustrations are provided by British shows and transnational TV formats are identified by their British titles. Only the original network that aired the programme first is mentioned.

‘What will you do with the money?’: Understanding game shows

Boyle’s (2018) observation that TV entertainment is under-researched still stands for game shows (p. 6), and only a few attempts have been made to understand how they work. Much of the literature focusses on what they represent and finds them wanting. They are either derided as trivial and vulgar or vilified for promoting individualism, reinforcing existing social power structures and glorifying consumerism. Other scholars place game shows in the context of policy, citing them as an example or cause of the erosion of public service media and the commercialisation of television (e.g. The Committee on Broadcasting, 1962; Freedman, 2003; Wayne, 2000). ¹ While scholarship has picked up, game shows are often either overlooked or ostracised. They never figure in television studies and popular culture textbooks, and Whannel’s remark that ‘so many books on television ignore quiz and game shows entirely’ remains true to this day (Whannel, 1992: 183).

The purpose of this research is to look at game shows for what they are and what they do. This section analyses them from within, considering how they tell a story and create drama without a script. In doing so, it identifies three primary and three secondary constituents: the engine, the challenging journey and ordinary people as contestants; the host, celebrities and ritualistic moments. These elements define game shows as a genre, and the way a programme orders them distinguishes one game show from another. In brief, a game show uses engines and orders story-building elements to form a distinctive narrative progression that mixes drama and playfulness.

The first constituent part is the engine, which sets the gameplay and structure of the contest. Do contestants battle against each other (e.g. The Weakest Link, BBC Two; Impossible, BBC Two), or against a team of experts (e.g. The Chase, ITV 1; Eggheads, BBC Two)? Is the play interactive with contestants playing head-to-head (e.g. Unbeatable, BBC One), or in succession as in Mastermind (BBC One)? Do contestants play individually, in pairs (Pointless, BBC Two), in teams (University Challenge, ITV) or with their families (In with a Shout, ITV1; Family Fortunes, ITV1)? How many contestants are involved in the gameplay at any one time: 1 (Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? ITV1) (henceforth Millionaire), 4 (The Chase, ITV1), 5 (Mastermind), 21 (Impossible, BBC Two), 100 (The 1% Club, ITV1) or 456 (Squid Game: The Challenge, Netflix)? How many contestants pass each round and what is the gameplay mechanic used to eliminate them? How many rounds are there, and what does the grand finale look like?

The engine sets the nature of the trials and the challenge at hand. Both Fiske and Whannel list prizes as game show ingredients (Fiske, 1987: 222–223; Whannel, 1992: 189–191), but what matters most is the journey to reach the prize. According to Paul Smith, the creator of Millionaire, the show’s appeal does not reside in the fact that people can win a million pounds, ‘it’s seeing people under genuine pressure . . . making a life changing decision’ (Smith, 2009). Everything Millionaire does is designed to support the drama, from music to lighting and the two cameras permanently pointed at the contestant miss none of it:

Of course it is a drama, it’s a human drama. And what is most exciting about it is seeing these people wrestle against the questions, the tactics that they’re going to use. Are they going to use a lifeline or are they not, and when they do use a lifeline are they going to take any notice of the information that is provided to them, or are they going to ignore it, certainly in the case of phone a friend and ask the audience. And are they going to have the guts to go all the way, or the foolishness to go all the way depending on how one looks at it, and so on (Smith, 2009).

Millionaire places much emphasis on the life-changing opportunity on offer but game shows with symbolic prizes work equally well because contestants have to display skills and/or knowledge to win the contest. Many games incorporate fate in their gameplay (Holmes, 2008: 16, 108–111), but few are based on fate alone because winning a lottery does not constitute a journey. ² Game shows tell a story because contestants summon their courage, take on a challenge and fight to win.

Game shows can broadly be divided between those that set physical or intellectual challenges (a few are hybrid). Programmes such as Ninja Warrior UK (ITV1) or The Cube (ITV1) set strength and agility trials, but most game shows quiz contestants. ³ Questions are among the few components that are scripted and contribute to set the tone and atmosphere of the programme (Holmes, 2008: 86–117). As John Fiske writes, ‘an entirely different category of knowledge. . . produces entirely different sorts of shows’ (Fiske, 1987: 219). On the basis of his classification, four types of shows can be distinguished. Jeopardy! (Channel 4), Mastermind and University Challenge seek academic knowledge. ‘Everyday’ knowledge is more accessible to the general public and includes a fair amount of popular culture; it is tested in games such as Wheel of Fortune (ITV) or Tipping Point (ITV1). Shows such as Family Fortunes or Play Your Cards Right (ITV), which seek the most common answers to survey-based questions, test contestants’ ‘knowledge of the people’ (Fiske, 1987: 220). Question of Sport (BBC One) and Ken Bruce’s PopMaster – until recently BBC Radio 2’s flagship show – test specialist knowledge. Some quiz shows pose different challenges: alphabetic and numerical skills for Countdown (Channel 4) and Limitless Win (ITV1), lateral thinking for Only Connect (BBC Two) and logic for The 1% Club. Many game shows increase the difficulty of questions as each round passes, a mechanism that helps to build tension.

The engine determines the prize money structure and its role in the gameplay. The prize can be symbolic (Mastermind) or life changing (Millionaire). The $64,000 Question best exemplifies the long tradition of US game shows with large prizes but the trend was resisted in the UK by successive broadcasting authorities (Hoerschelmann, 2006; Holmes, 2006; Whannel, 1992). ⁴ The prize plays a passive role when it remains unchanged throughout the process and is active when the amount of cash a contestant can win varies throughout the process: The Wall (BBC One) is so designed that contestants can win up to around £1 million but never get near this sum as their prize goes up or down depending on skills and luck. In most game shows, contestants build up the prize they can win. Million Pound Drop (Channel 4) innovated by reversing the process: contestants are given £1 million at the start and the challenge is not to lose it. Whilst the process seems counterintuitive, tension arises as contestants ‘desperately try to keep hold of it’ (Flynn, 2014).

While the representational qualities of documentaries have been acknowledged, it is often forgotten that game shows have featured ordinary people at a time when they were far and few between on TV screens (Holmes, 2008: 118–139; Whannel, 1992: 193–195). All game shows feature ordinary people – it being given that ordinariness is a constructed category (Teurlings, 2001) – but some make contestants the focus of attention. Such programmes regularly featured on US networks between the 1940s and 1980s and include Truth or Consequences, People Are Funny and Queen for a Day (Graham, 1988; Schwarz et al., 1999).

Two shows in this vein stand out on British television: Game for a Laugh (ITV, 1981–1985) and Surprise Surprise (ITV, 1984–2001, 2012–2015). The latter involved tricks, pranks and surprises for members of the public, while the former revolved around practical jokes. Before the advent of reality, these programmes were called ‘people shows’. Michael Hill, the producer of Game for a Laugh, reveals the thinking behind the show:

Well in the case of Game for a Laugh a show where the people are the stars. . . . There are a hundred different ways to do all of this stuff, why do we always have to ask questions and answers, let’s have fun with people. Let’s put people in situations and laugh at the circumstances that befall them (Hill, 2010).

Whilst the ethics is dubious, these shows antedate talent competitions that purposely construct comedic situations at the expense of contestants (e.g. The Apprentice, BBC One) or put them on stage for the sole purpose of laughing at them.

There is nothing random about contestant selection and the journey to the stage can be long. Each game show has a detailed selection process based on the criteria set by the producers. ⁵ This process aims to test the personality and, when necessary, the knowledge of contestants (Graham, 1988: 99). Producers are generally looking for contestants’ ability to project a likeable personality. Charisma, confidence, enthusiasm and energy are some of the sought-after qualities. For the games where luck plays a part, projection, energy and an interesting back story are essential. Quiz show producers look for people with the knowledge to succeed in the game, in which case the casting process involves some sort of examination, and possibly a pre-game rehearsal (Jeopardy!).

For The Cube, an agility-based show, the producers seek ‘big’ characters who are ‘real people’ (Adler and Eastwood, 2015). They turn down people who are desperate to be on television, ⁶ people with sob stories and people with worthy causes. In order that viewers relate to their contestants, the answer they are looking for when they are asked what they will do with the money is ‘I need a bigger car’ or ‘I need a new [kitchen] extension’ (Adler and Eastwood, 2015).

John Fiske states that ‘quiz shows produce particularly active, participatory viewers’ (Fiske, 1987: 223). One reason is that the audience test their knowledge and compete with the contestants, a process facilitated by multi-choice answers, a device developed by Millionaire and imitated ever since. Another reason is that game shows’ central figures are people with whom viewers can relate, generating a process of identification that lies at the heart of the genre. The Cube producers explain this process by expanding on the kitchen principle:

And because these [money needs] are what 99.9% of the audience can relate to. And then all of a sudden what we find is we put characters in there who are real people. The audience absolutely empathise not only with them because they can see this is a person who feels a little bit uncomfortable in this environment. That’s how I’d feel. So tell me about yourself, oh there’s my kids, there’s my family, you know, there’s nothing extraordinary about them. The most extraordinary thing about them is that they’re on telly and they’re ordinary (Adler and Eastwood, 2015).

All secondary elements play an important part in the narrative. From a storytelling perspective, the host is the narrator who tells the story so that the audience can hear it (Lacey, 2000: 107). In their classic demeanour, hosts are friendly, warm and supportive. They welcome, introduce and root for the contestants, rejoicing with winners and praising losers. They must connect with the audience and contestants, have a sense of humour, a gift for banter and the ability to ad-lib at will (Graham, 1988: 69–94). Some game shows put a premium on the comedic abilities of the host (e.g. Rob Brydon’s Would I Lie to You?, BBC One; Michael McIntyre’s The Wheel, BBC One). With time, the persona hosts adopt has diversified. In the early 2000s, The Weakest Link became a worldwide hit (in localised versions) partly thanks to the stance adopted by Anne Robinson in the original British show. Her haughtiness contrasted with the joviality of other hosts and reversed the identification process. Anne Robinson turned contestants into school children, placing emphasis on a space – school – that game shows have long drawn from (Fiske, 1987: 224–225). Most game shows bank on viewers wishing to be on stage, while The Weakest Link gives the audience a sense of relief that it is not them in the studio (Young, 2009). Challenging quiz shows (Jeopardy!; Mastermind) demand an authoritative host. Paul Smith felt that ‘although the host [of Millionaire] was to be a friend and a supporter – an emotional supporter of the contestant – they had to be knowledgeable, worldly and experienced’ (Smith, 2009).

Celebrities are a regular occurrence and offer three options. Most shows need strong enough mechanics to stand up on their own without recourse to celebrities, but some feature them in their charity versions (e.g. Pointless Celebrities). Certain shows mingle contestants with celebrities, often cast in a supporting role to the contestants. British TV’s most illustrious example is Blankety Blank (BBC One), while The Wheel constitutes the latest incarnation. Panel shows rely exclusively on celebrities (e.g, Have I Got News for You, BBC Two; A League of Their Own, Sky One, Would I Lie to You?), where their wit and sense of humour are part of the appeal.

Game shows are not rituals in the sense of Claude Levy-Strauss (Fiske, 1987: 217–218), or media rituals in the sense of Nick Couldry (Couldry, 2003), but do contain ritualistic moments. Welcoming and closing statements, catchphrases and jingles, are repeated day after day and remain identical for many years. These repetitive features serve a dual purpose. They tell the audience that today’s show is simply a new version of a story they know and like. It is akin to the opening sentence of fairy tales, ‘once upon a time’, inviting readers and listeners to a narrative universe set ‘in a different world’ and ‘in ‘another dimension’ than theirs (Lacey, 2000: 6–7). Ritualistic moments also support story progression by providing markers at turning points.

Amidst the razzmatazz and flashing lights, it is easy to overlook that the typical game show tells a linear story with a beginning, middle and end. It begins with contestants with the courage to accept a challenge in front of an audience. It continues with their endeavour to win the prize, the skills and knowledge they display and the tactics they use to overcome obstacles and beat the opposition. It ends with the grand finale that delivers a positive or negative outcome. The audience witness the entire process, wondering how it will end, rejoicing with the winners and lamenting with the losers. There is no script but a story, and no Hollywood star but ordinary people with whom viewers identify: key principles which will be remembered by reality TV producers.

Why TV game shows matter?

TV game shows deserve our full attention because they are among the most established of TV genres and because of their long-lasting influence. The craft of game show producers has never been recognised, yet producing one that endures is an exceptional feat. As Mark Goodson, the world’s most prolific game show creator, exclaimed:

Creating a game isn’t like conceiving a drama when you say ‘let’s do something about a transit cop’. . . In drama you can reach out and pick up a start-off notion. In games you begin with a blank page. It’s almost like trying to create a new sport. Think of a new sport. Think of how few new sports really come along (in Graham, 1988: 50).

Of the hundreds of projects submitted to broadcasters every year, only a handful are commissioned. Of these, one may get the public’s attention and stay on air. The happy-go-lucky persona of game shows is deceiving; light entertainment requires as precise engineering as any other genre. They matter because of their long history and their unique place in popular culture. Game shows have been on air since the dawn of sound broadcasting and effortlessly transferred from radio to television in the 1940s, embracing the new medium’s visual language in the process (Camporesi, 2000; Holmes, 2008). They played a central role in the rise and normalisation of consumer culture in the 1950s and 1960s (Turnock, 2007). Game shows have experienced highs and lows but when one catches the nation’s mood it reaches ratings heights achieved by few other genres. In the UK, What’s My Line? (BBC) and The $64,000 Question (ATV) in the 1950s, Double Your Money (ITV) in the 1960s, Sale of the Century (ITV) and Family Fortunes (ATV) in the 1970s, The Price is Right (ITV) in 1980s, Crystal Maze (Channel 4) in the 1990s and Millionaire in the 2000s, are among the programmes that marked generations of viewers.

Game shows can stay on air for years, sometimes decades, a feat matched by few other programmes. With interruptions, and sometimes transferring to another channel, University Challenge has broadcast since 1962, A Question of Sport since 1970, Family Fortunes since 1980 and Countdown since 1982. The genre remains popular and continues to feature daily on the schedules of British terrestrial broadcasters.

Game shows matter because they have been far more influential than people think. Telling a story without a script, creating tension with gameplay mechanisms, taking ordinary people onto a journey and turning them into heroes for a day, are all things game shows producers did well before the advent of reality TV. The connection between the two genres deserves more attention than it has received so far.

Conclusion: Thinking beyond texts

Game shows are undervalued by the academic literature and their influence has been underestimated. They matter because of the craft they require and the influence they have had. This research has demonstrated that many story-building elements of reality programmes originate from game shows. Both genres are unscripted, use engines to define the gameplay and feature ordinary people who accept a challenge and embark on a journey. They also have hosts, celebrities and ritualistic moments. There are similarities in the ways these genres are commercialised and circulate around the globe. They create situations – as opposed to accessing them – and use contests to structure the narrative. The aim is not to start an origins dispute or undermine the specificity and originality of reality television. It is a hybrid genre which has been fashioned by multiple influences, and while reality series share attributes with game shows, they remain distinctive.

While game show scholarship is developing it remains too isolated from mainstream television studies. Game shows’ role and contribution to broadcasting schedules and the TV production sector is in need of further analysis. Their participants and audiences deserve more attention. More comparative research is warranted, a strand of analysis pioneered by Anne Cooper-Chen in the 1990s and abandoned since (Cooper-Chen, 1994).

It remains to explain why game shows do not figure more pre-eminently in the media scholarship and have largely been cut off from the history of TV entertainment. The reasons are not solely ideological. Fiske and Hartley took issue with British literary criticism (and its offspring media and communication studies) that attempts to read television texts as if they were literary. Such attempts are ‘doomed to failure’ because television modes are both oral and literate (Fiske and Hartley, 2003: 30), and a distinction is made between ‘oral (working-class) modes’ and ‘literate (bourgeois) ones’ (Fiske and Hartley, 2003: 116). It is not difficult to imagine that game shows predominantly belong to the former rather than the latter category, explaining the disdain to which they have long been held.

The ‘textualist assumption’ that characterises genre theory creates another problem (Mittell, 2001: 5): the discursive practices that shape texts and form discourses tend to be expurgated from the analysis. It is by going around the object of the text that this research was able to uncover the connections between two genres: interviewing TV producers and interrogating their practices, this research has shown commonalities between those that shape game shows and reality programmes. Reality TV emerged when TV producers began to mix discursive practices from multiple genres in order to create something new. Including these practices in textual analysis reveals the historicity of discourses and gives us a better understanding of the evolution of television entertainment.