3 hours ago
2
This, then, is what Alan Carr did next. Fresh from his victory as the last traitor standing in The Celebrity Traitors, and elevation to national treasure status, the Chatty Man is co-presenting Secret Genius with Countdown’s dictionary-botherer, the lexicographer and author Susie Dent. On second thoughts, given the lead times for these things, this is probably better billed as “What Alan Carr was contracted to do next” but no matter. We are here to have fun and fun we shall! Though, this being a reality-competition show in which people take part in regional heats to find out who among them is “one of the estimated million undiscovered geniuses” in the UK (no definition of the term given – Dent, you had ONE JOB), it comes with a buffet of sob stories, a side order of stress and a hefty dollop of whatever the word is for that patented mix of schadenfreude and voyeurism on which the genre depends.
We begin with a dozen participants drawn from north-west England and Northern Ireland. They have either nominated themselves or – more often – been nominated by friends and family who know them as the cleverclogses of their circles. All will compete in the first round: eight will reach the second.
What’s the first round? Well might you ask. The contestants are presented with a wall of letters. It contains all those needed to spell the months of the year – except one. What is the letter, my friends, and from which month is it? Some go straight to working out in their heads which are the most uncommon letters and checking them against the panoply on offer. Others start rearranging the letters to spell out all 12 words. In one notable case, the letters are taken down to be held like a hand of cards except that the pertinent information on them cannot be seen.
Then there is a board with numbers to be arranged on it so that predetermined totals for each row are met. Some are very good at this. Some are not. And then there’s Nathan. We shall draw a veil. He does very well at other things. Not least – oh, my heart – warmly bolstering the self-esteem of his very shy partner Jo in the next round and fully and rightly crediting her with their joint success.
There are only three rounds, comprising Mensa-produced puzzles designed to test a host of the skills that make up an IQ score (you can argue animatedly among yourselves about what kind of measure this is of human intelligence – this is not that show). But it’s more than enough to produce all the necessary responses to ensure instant addiction: stress, disbelief, immediate devout allegiance to your favourite contestant and to provide a window into the soul of the nation.
This time the window frames the stark truth that the UK remains an arse-backwards, classbound, privilege-riven hellhole. Just about everyone taking part has a history of being ignored, dismissed, passed over or, as 59-year-old former nurse Justin succinctly puts it, “labelled thick” in school, mostly because – and you barely have to read between the lines – they weren’t middle class. Ollie had every car registration plate on her estate effortlessly memorised as a child, and cruises through every round unless crippled by nerves. She is taking part out of “morbid curiosity. Am I dim-witted and just good at remembering stuff?” (This includes, by the way, every detail of the patients she treats as an ambulance crew member.)
What a lack of class privilege didn’t take care of, bullies did. Some contestants allude to their experiences, all nod in recognition. God, kids are vile. Then there’s the male/female split. Sports management consultant Jo, who nearly loses a round against the clock because she cannot believe she got an answer correct and takes herself back for a second go, contrasts her attitude to her capabilities with that of her ambitious, extrovert brother and puts at least part of it down to the natural/nurtured differences between their sexes. She thinks she might need to stop shying away from her abilities. At home, the nation roars its approval.
All of human life is here. And Alan Carr. And Susie Dent. Secret Genius is all good fun and games so long as you ignore all the things it’s measuring that Mensa could never imagine.
