by Adam Carter
Just about.
The letter A was at the top, followed by B and C on the proceeding line. The letters continued down, with the penultimate line formed of P, Q, R, S, T and U. Unfortunately the remaining letters (V, W, X, Y and Z) could not properly form the final line, so they receded, using the same format at the five-letter line above.
The camera finally stopped moving and focused upon Corsac. The audience would have caught a glimpse of the contestants and that was enough for now. It was time for Corsac to tell a joke or three before finding out a bit more about the players for the day. He would explain a little about the game since it was the first show and no one would have understood the concept as yet, and then they would just get on with it. It would likely take far longer to film than it would to show, another reason Corsac disliked working in television, although he knew that once it was over it would be over and he could go home and put his feet up; and most importantly of all tell Marie he had a proper job at last and that he had somehow managed to survive the first day at the office.
And what an office it was.
“Now,” Corsac said by way of introduction, for it was time for him to speak his own words rather than the ones scripted for him, “you’ve all tuned in, so that’s the first hurdle over with. The game you’re about to see, and no doubt participate in at home, is formed of just three questions. Three simple questions for which there are many answers. Sounds easy?” Here he chuckled. “Well, let’s just see how easy. I’m your host and this is Deadlock.”
He watched the camera do something weird and decided he did not even want to know what the effect looked like. Once it had settled again and the music had stopped (and what foul music it was) the view was returned to the smiling face of Jack Corsac, while others were positioned elsewhere, encompassing of course the contestants themselves.
“So, let’s meet today’s players,” he said jovially – too jovially. Corsac had never been jovial on stage; he was sarcastic and derisive. He was not used to this and had yet to perfect his flawless fake smile. “Fred, let’s start with you. Tell us a bit about yourself.”
The first contestant looked into the camera being placed directly before his face and he said, “Hi, my name’s Fred Holmes. I’m seventy-two years of age from Dorset and I’m a retired accountant.”
“Accountant, eh?” Corsac asked. “So, you’ll be good with numbers?”
“Yes, very good, Jack.”
“Well, it’s a shame this game has nothing to do with numbers.” After allowing a pause for friendly and forced laughter from the studio floor (he could see the floor manager Troupe encouraging it off to one side), he turned his attention to the next contestant. “Beth, you’re up.”
“Hello,” Beth said into the camera, a little more nervous than Fred although no less jovial because of it. Corsac was beginning to despise joviality and he was only two minutes into his first show. “I’m Beth Davis from Blackpool and I’m twenty-four and a day care nurse.”
“A day care nurse twenty-four-seven was that?” Corsac asked.
“Pretty much, I am,” Beth smiled.
It had been a weak joke, but Corsac would think of a better one later and slot it in. He had been told they were referred to as reshoots and were just one of the many wonders of television.
“Hokay,” Corsac said, turning his attention to the letter pyramid. “So we’ve met the players, now let’s play the game. I’ll ask one question,” he said to the audience as much as to the players, “and you’ll provide me with one answer. The same question will go to the other player and then back to player one. Each answer must begin with a different letter of the alphabet. Once a letter has been used, the corresponding letter on the pyramid will turn dark. The question bounces back and forth until one player fails to provide an answer in the allotted time, which means that player will have hit deadlock. If together you manage to exhaust all twenty-six letters, the round shall be declared a tie. Failing to answer within ten seconds results in a forfeit of the game, as will giving an answer beginning with a letter already deleted from the pyramid. Simple. So, are you ready to begin?” There were murmurs from the players they could reshoot later and Corsac said, “We’ll begin with you, Fred. Your question is this: Name a species of bird.”
That was it. One of the simplest questions that could have been asked. However, due to the nature of the game, it would become more difficult as the time went on. The easy ones would go first, those beginning with more common letters like P and S. The difficult ones would be left at the end, such as Q and the dreaded X. The idea was that players who could think of answers beginning with the rarer letters could save them as their own trumps for when they got stuck and could think of no more, although the danger was in their opponent also being able to think of those difficult ones and using them first.
The initial testing had proved it to be quite an addictive game, and one which they hoped could be sold as puzzle books across the country. Certainly would people be playing it at home while they watched, which was the idea of any good game show. And with only three rounds per show, there were only three questions. Corsac knew the idea was fairly good, although he found the entire notion of game shows trite, and wasn’t afraid to say so. Except, of course, on air.
Fred considered the question for a moment. He had ten seconds in which to provide an answer, so he had the time presently to organise (theoretically) the order in which he would provide his answers, trying to work out which species of bird his opponent would also know. Just when Corsac was afraid Fred was not going to answer within the ten seconds and forfeit the game before a single answer was provided, he replied, “Chaffinch.”
The C on the pyramid darkened. Corsac wondered how much money they’d spent on that, since it would have been a far better special effect if the letter had simply swivelled around to face a black back forward, although he said, “That’s the C dealt with. Beth, the same question’s now on you.”
“Pigeon, Jack.”
The P also darkened. “Fred?”
And so the game continued. Answers came quite quickly at first, slowing as the game progressed. Jackdaw, budgerigar, owl and hummingbird all featured early on in the game. Swan, emu, gull, thrush and magpie soon followed. Then the contestants began to think more about their answers, because, quite simply, they were running out. Corsac was wearing an earpiece whereby Troupe could speak to him directly, informing him from her list of birds (she was probably hooked up to the Internet even now) in order to tell him whether an obscure-sounding name was real. It was, Corsac reflected, like the Dictionary Corner on Countdown, then paused and berated himself for admitting to even being able to make such a simile.
Eventually, the players ran out of steam. There were still plenty of letters left on the board, although after woodpecker, robin, kingfisher and nightingale had made their appearance, neither player seemed to be able to come up with anything more. The play was on Beth, and she was beginning to sweat.
Corsac counted down the ten seconds in his head; it would have been unfair to have done so aloud. Beth shifted her meagre weight from foot to foot, biting her lower lip, and on the ninth second blurted out “Duck!” as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Fred considered his own answer, and after only a few seconds said, “Penguin.”
A strange losing sound emanated from somewhere in the studio, and Corsac did not understand it for a moment. Then he remembered the rules to the game and said, “Ooh, bad luck, Fred, but Beth already provided us with the answer pigeon, and penguin also begins with P. So, I’m afraid you’ve hit ... deadlock.”
Some further strange music sounded and Corsac wished they’d just play the funeral march and get it over with. At least that was a tune he could grow to like.
The next round followed the same format the first. Corsac had no conception of time on set, it was one of the reasons he really did not like to do television, although he had been told that after edits the rounds would last approximately six minu
tes. There would be three rounds and a final, and when the advert break was taken into account (along with all the extras like Corsac making jokes and the introduction of the players) it would all be rounded off to half an hour. For Corsac, however, the initial round, the first time they had done this properly on film, seemed to have dragged an eternity.
The second round consisted of a question regarding colours and the contestants played back and forth with their answers until finally Beth ran out of time on providing an answer. No one had as yet said orange and Corsac wondered whether it was the pressure or whether these two people were just stupid. Orange, to Corsac’s mind, would have been one of the most obvious; after all, his first thoughts would have been to work through the rainbow.
Thankfully this meant the scoring was now one a piece, which meant they could progress to the third, deciding round. If this round was a draw there would be a tie-breaker, although tests showed that the pyramid was seldom exhausted, so ties were not to be expected. The real problem would be if a contestant won the first two games, for there would be no need to play the third. Best of three would win it, so the third round would become defunct. If this did happen, however, there was a contingency already in place. The losing player would not have any more to do with the game, but the rounds would be extended, less being edited out, so that the two rounds would fill the whole time three normally would.
Corsac considered this farcical, for any intelligent viewer would know instantly when there was to be a clear win, since the programme would be drawn out longer. However, Castle had been quick to point out to him that Celebrity Millionaire always had to finish on the last show, so the last show was almost always drawn out through careful editing to make it fit. When Corsac had asked how that worked exactly, Castle had laughed and replied that the people at home hardly ever noticed and instead would merely complain to one another that the contestants were dragging their heels too much and were taking up valuable time other players may have been using.
It was clear that Castle held little regard for the average television viewer and it was the one thing of him that Corsac found he did not like. Corsac always held a certain respect for his audiences and treated them fairly because of it. After all, they were paying his wages so in effect he would not even be standing there without them. Castle was the type of man who, if he worked in the film industry, would adapt a book to screen without even reading it, making the best film he felt he possibly could and knowing he would have an instant audience from those who had read the book, but not care whether they would enjoy the experience.
It was a pet hate of Jack Corsac, and it was possibly the only flaw in his relationship with his new boss.
The final round began, with the subject revolving around types of fish. Most of the top half of the pyramid was taken out very quickly, and a scattering of letters towards the bottom were also removed. Finally, however, it was the Z and X which proved the players’ undoing, the psychological value of those two having destroyed many a game in rehearsals. Corsac had to wait for confirmation on three of the answers, for he had never heard of the mudskipper, whale shark or lungfish and in truth was surprised that the contestants had, although Troupe okayed each of them within instants and there was no visible delay in Corsac’s replies each time.
There were only a few letters remaining when the game began to really slow, and the play was put on Beth. She was struggling with what was left, and seemed able to think only of fish using the letters which had already gone. Corsac was mentally counting down the seconds, even though he knew the timer was being set each time elsewhere, and he found himself silently urging her on, knowing there must be at least one more answer out there to be found. Theoretically, there may well have been at least twenty-six answers to each question, although then again there may not have been. That was in essence the beauty of the programme: you could keep thinking about it for days but still not get all twenty-six answers. Apparently (so he had been told anyway) the final round had an answer for every letter. Corsac had himself taken several questions from the final but had never been able to work out twenty-six answers for them, even with a lot of time to think it over. Still, he wasn’t there to answer the questions, just to ask them.
Finally, on what Corsac reckoned to have been the eleventh second and which he knew must have meant he had been counting too quickly, Beth blurted out “Tuna!” Corsac could not believe the T had yet to be taken, although as he turned to make sure, he raised his eyebrows, for indeed the T was still there. He had a quick think, realised he couldn’t name another fish beginning with T, suddenly thought of trout, and said, “Fred, back to you.”
Fred panicked. There was simply nothing left for him which he felt he was able to do, and as the seconds ticked away it became obvious the man’s mind had gone blank. As the gong sounded to indicate the time had elapsed, Fred shook his head. “Sorry.”
Corsac did not know why he was apologising for losing, but offered him some mock sympathy. He was hoping Beth would win because a pretty face in the final never hurt, and said, “Fred, Fred, Fred ... you know what this means don’t you? You’ve hit deadlock.”
The music sounded again and the camera shifted annoyingly, settling once more upon the players.
Corsac offered a smile for the camera. “Well, I’m afraid that’s it for you, Fred. If we ever do a numbers version of Deadlock, I’m sure we’ll give you a ring. No one leaves here empty-handed, however, so you’ll be going home today with the ‘I was Deadlocked’ T-shirt and socks.” He had asked whether they could have a chequebook and pen, although had been turned down on the grounds that people did not generally use chequebooks any more since the banks were trying to phase them out. “But Beth, it’s time to put your grey matter to the test one final time as we move into the Deadlock final.”
Music played and there were more camera movements and some rather intense flashes of light which left spots blinking away in Corsac’s eyes. When the music had finished, Fred was gone, along with his pedestal, and Beth stood there alone, facing the pyramid and her host.
“Now,” Corsac explained, noticing the lights had been dimmed slightly, “you’ve reached the final, Beth. You can relax.” She made a show of smiling, although it was far from convincing. Corsac continued. “The rules for the final are slightly different,” he said more for the benefit of the people at home since Beth had been informed as to the entire process earlier. “The pyramid is the same, as it the general idea of the game. You’ll be given a choice of three questions, and once you’ve selected which you want, you have sixty seconds to give as many answers as you can. Duplicates of answers or reusing the same letter shan’t be counted against you, so feel free to shout out as many as you can. What you’re aiming for is not to clear the entire grid, but to get as many answers as possible. For every five answers you provide, you pocket one hundred pounds. If you somehow manage to clear the entire pyramid, one thousand pounds, tax free, is going into your bank account in the morning.”
The money was not a lot, although it had been explained to Corsac that since they were a lunch-time show, they did not have the prime time financial backing. If they were successful their hopes were to move to the evening, where they could offer far more money, although at the moment they would have to settle for giving out only a few hundred pounds each day. And no one would get the pyramid cleared, such was almost impossible. If it had taken over a year for someone to bag the big money on Deal or No Deal, Castle had been certain no one would be doing so on Deadlock for quite some time to come.
Upon a screen behind Corsac there appeared three bars, which turned around as he spoke each of their names. “So,” he said, “your options for a final question are; number one: films whose titles are two or three words; number two: English words which begin with the same letter as their French equivalent; and number three; countries of the world.”
They were more difficult, presumably because it was the final. They were also weird, and Corsac had to pretend they weren’t,
which they were. They didn’t even fit properly onto the bars, and the writing was far too small. Also, you’d have to read them once or twice just to work out what you were being asked. The show definitely had some kinks which needed working out.
There had been no doubt within Corsac’s mind as to what Beth would choose, and she did not disappoint when she said she’d take the first option. Corsac tried to think of a few himself, for at this point was he allowed to prompt her if she got stuck. No one wanted to see her go home with nothing, especially not Castle. He could think of a lot of films with four words in their title and suddenly realised just how difficult this game actually was.
“Are you ready, Beth?” Corsac asked jovially. She replied that she was, although she seemed far more nervous now than she had been earlier. Corsac realised he had not put many jokes into the show, and while he knew they could do so later, he could not bear to think of Beth stumbling through to nothing. “At least the X isn’t going to be a problem this time,” he said. “Hollywood seems to have gone mad for them over the last ten years.”
The screen cleared and the pyramid was all he and Beth were concentrating on now. At home the viewer would be able to see a screen split vertically: on the right-hand side would be Beth’s face, and on the left the pyramid. Corsac’s voice would be heard, but he would not himself be seen.
“All right, here we are,” Corsac said. “Let’s see if we can make you go away with something at least. At this stage you could leave here with nothing, but trust me, not gonna happen.” It was a catchphrase and he’d been told to insert it at least once, so that was what he was doing. It also seemed to reassure the poor woman somewhat and so he was glad.
Then the final began, and the timer counted down.
Beth began to spout off films as quickly as she could, the titles becoming mixed almost as they emerged. “Love Actually, Sunset Boulevard, Zulu Dawn, Ghostbusters Two, uh ... About a Boy, You’ve Got Mail, uh ... Someone Like You.”