Dialogue: Oh for the days of 'Mastermind'

By GORDON McLAUCHLAN

Imagine this: two men and two women sitting in the studio, all wired up in fancy chairs with an array of headsets, thermometers, electronic body tags and intravenous taps, all of which will measure brainwaves, hormonal flow, adrenalin surges, blood pressure, blood sugars, every shift of physical and mental activity.

Behind each contestant is a large, illuminated monitor - those behind the males sky blue, and those behind the women bathroom pink.

"Welcome everyone, "says the host. "Our first contestant tonight is Charlie Blunt, a 24-year-old butcher from West Auckland. Welcome Frank."

"Gidday."

"Your first question is to identify which of the four women pictured here in black lingerie is Catherine Zeta-Jones."

The chart above him flashes with purple exclamation marks and a testosterone hooter goes "Whoop, whoop, whoop!"

"Number three," shouts Charlie.

"Thank you," says the host, "a testosterone reading of 99. Now let's put the same question to contestant two.

Welcome please Father Patrick Mulroney, an 81-year-old parish priest from Invercargill. Father which of these pictures is of Zeta-Jones?"

"I think it'd be number two." The monitor remains a lambent blue.

"Thanks you, Father. A testosterone reading of minus four.

"The answer is number three but I'm afraid your testosterone count was so high, Charlie, that you're disqualified, whereas Father Mulroney, although wrong, gets a maximum five points for his commendable sangfroid.

"Contestant three is Zena Lively, an 18-year-old beautician from Manukau City. Welcome Zena. Now I want you to spell Schwarzenegger while deciding which of the four pictures of men's butts clad in tight cut-down jeans belongs to Arnold himself."

"S-w-a-r-t-s - Oh my goodness, look at those bulges. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. S-w-a-r-t-s-something-something-something - what a darling he is."

The chart behind her is swirling heliotrope, depicting a wild hormonal rush.

"Thank you Zena. And now our fourth guest contestant is Molly Smith, a 62-year-old spinster from the parish of Remuera. Molly, can you spell Arnold's second name and pick the right butt?"

"S-c-h-w-a-r-z-e-n-e-g-g-e-r, and I'd say its the second butt from the right. Only guessing, of course, I've never met the gentleman."

No movement at all on the chart.

"You're absolutely right, Molly, old thing, and with no sign of a hormonal rush you get the full five points for the correct answer and a bonus of 10.

"And now Charlie, can you tell me what pi means, that's p ... i?"

"Er, its short for meat pie, or would you like the full range: steak and cheese, bacon and egg, mince and cheese ... "

His chart shows a slight increase in blood pressure, signifying suspicion, and a flush of digestive juices.

"Sorry, Charlie. Now Father Mulroney, can you tell me what p ... i means?"

"It's the 16th letter in the Greek alphabet and it's a symbol fundamental to mathematics."

A bell rings and the chart becomes iridescent.

"Thank you, Father. But I'm sorry there was a very strong reading of brain waves, so while your answer was correct, we must disqualify you."

Host turns to camera.

"After the break, contestants (wearing those 3-D glasses) will be shown a rampaging herd of elephants charging at them from an Imax screen. They will be asked to identify them as Indian or African elephants. The one who does so with the lowest adrenalin flow will win the point.

"And before the programme ends tonight, contestants must identify particular haute cuisine dishes from smells emitted just under the nose. The one who does so correctly with the lowest flow on the mouth-water gauge wins the segment."

You see, I've kind of missed the point about The Chair or The Chamber - the format invented by our very own television genius Julie Christie and/or someone else in the United States - in which, according to reports, quiz contestants lose points if their heart rate rises. What's wrong with your heart rate rising if you get the right answer?

If the programme is to find emotionally inert psychopaths with good memories, they should have called it something like Cool Dudes or even The Zombies' Quiz.

I like quiz shows. They interest people in knowing things. I enjoyed Mastermind with its stylish build-up of tension, and liked the brisk and simple format of Sale of the Century for which I wrote many questions during its first couple of seasons.

Questions are the substance of real quiz shows and framing them is a skilled and specialised business.

But at this advanced stage of Western civilisation, game shows are the vogue, usually with questions that are wildly and unfairly eclectic.

These programmes depend on quirky formulas to grab the transitory attention of viewers.

Since the beginning of television, quiz shows have come around every so often, gained a fashionable following, changed to game show formats and then faded away again.

I'm waiting for someone to come up breathlessly with the old truth and consequences format in which a wrong answer earns contestants a ducking or a bag of flour on the head.

Meanwhile, in the US, lawyers will mop up hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of dollars during an intellectual property squabble that very few will care about, least of all the viewers.