PICKING UP THE story of my career again requires slipping back in time for a moment, to the year before I met Winnie.
It’s December 1979 and, having enjoyed my two nights performing at Huntingdon Hartford, I decide to remain in Los Angeles for a week or so to unwind and think about my next move. In January I’m booked for one-man shows in Slough and Croydon, both good venues, and there is a Big Night special scheduled for April; other than that, my diary is relatively clear.
Relaxing in my hotel room one morning, I switch on the television and flick through the channels. Unlike at home, at this time of the day much of the schedule is given over to gameshows. I stop at one called Card Sharks on the ABC network. It’s good … In fact, it’s very good. Yes, this could work for a British audience.
Once Card Sharks ends, I return to channel-hopping, finally settling on another gameshow, this time on NBC. I smile when I recognize the host, British actor Dickie Dawson, Diana Dors’s ex-husband. Now the host of Family Feud, he evidently likes to be called Richard Dawson. This is also a very good show.
Research reveals that the rights to both programmes are owned by a company called Goodson & Todman, and quite by chance, a day or so later at breakfast in my hotel, L’Ermitage, Beverly Hills, I bump into Paul Talbot, who is responsible for Goodson & Todman’s overseas sales. Knowing the Americans love a breakfast meeting, I introduce myself and we sit down for a chat.
‘Paul, I’ve been watching a lot of shows while I’ve been here and I’m very impressed with Family Feud in particular. I’d be interested in doing that back home.’
Paul gives me a wry smile. ‘You might not believe this, but I’ve just done a deal on that. Only a few days ago. It’s gone to Bob Monkhouse. Sorry, Bruce.’
‘Oh, what a shame. That’s the one I really fancied. There is another one I enjoyed, though, Card Sharks. What’s the situation there?’
‘Yes, that’s still available.’
‘Excellent. Paul, I wonder whether Bob might think about doing a swap? It’s worth asking. If not, then I think Card Sharks will be equally good for me.’
‘I’ll make a call, Bruce. But don’t pin your hopes on it. He seemed very keen.’
Paul was right: Bob didn’t want to swap, which was fair enough. London Weekend Television did the deal (pun absolutely intended!) on Card Sharks, and we decided to retitle it for the home market as Play Your Cards Right.
The moment we began recording I knew I had ended up with the right show, and was genuinely pleased I hadn’t managed to prise Family Feud away from Bob. (Which, of course, he made a great success of as Family Fortunes.) I would never have had such freedom and fun on that show as I had with Play Your Cards Right.
The first broadcast went out on 1 February 1980 and it proved to be quite a challenge for me. Here are some shots from that first series. Take a close look.
YES, THAT IS A bandage on my wrist. Here’s what happened.
I mentioned having a couple of one-man shows booked for my return to the UK. Well, in Slough just as I was walking offstage I took a tumble. I’d noticed early at rehearsals the stage was slippery and asked for it to be scrubbed. They had obviously missed a bit. I landed hard on my wrist and, of course, the audience thought this was part of the act. I tried to explain what had actually happened but I don’t think anyone believed me. Audiences rarely do when things go wrong. Somehow I struggled through my final song – on the piano, it hurt like hell – then took myself off to A & E where it was confirmed I had a fracture.
NOW, IF YOU DON’T remember Play Your Cards Right, it featured oversized playing cards, as you can see below. When I chatted with the audience before the show began, someone would inevitably shout out, ‘How do you shuffle those cards?’ and I would always reply, ‘We’ve got a ten-foot gorilla backstage!’ Now, while that was obviously a joke (he was only about eight foot tall), it does reinforce the point that the cards really were quite large and difficult to handle. Especially with a broken wrist.
Like all the best gameshows, the format was fast-paced and simple. The contestants won by moving along the row, guessing whether the next card would be higher or lower, which I would then turn over. With my right-hand only good for holding my microphone, all the turning in the first few shows was done with my ‘wrong’ left hand. It wasn’t easy, especially if the cards fell kindly and I had to move on to the next one very quickly, but I got through it.
The format also offered me the opportunity to launch a new range of catchphrases. As with The Generation Game, they were important in bringing both the audience and the viewers into what was going on. By calling out the responses, either in the studio or from their sofas, people felt they were investing something of themselves in the show.
For instance, when a pair was revealed as the contestants tried to move along their row of cards it brought the round to a halt. When that happened, I would turn to the audience and say: ‘You don’t get anything for a pair …’
And the audience would respond: ‘Not in this game!’
Another audience-participation catchphrase featured in the second half of the show, when the winning couple played for prizes, and cash in later series. The idea in this final game was again to guess correctly whether the next card along would be higher or lower. This time, however, the contestants wagered points on the turn of each card, with the aim of accumulating four thousand points, which allowed them to go for the star prize, the car, because (here it comes) …
‘What do points make?’
‘Prizes!’
I was involved in three separate runs of Play Your Cards Right, all of which I’m delighted to say were extremely successful and ratings winners. The first nine series ran between 1980 and 1987, with the show then revived for a further six series between 1994 and 1999 and finally again for a last series in 2002–3.
Inevitably, the show evolved over this period, with each of the three runs reflecting the attitudes and sensibilities of their respective eras. For instance, from the nineties series onwards, as the rules restricting what gameshows could offer were relaxed, contestants were now playing for bigger prizes and large cash sums. This led to the introduction of the ‘Brucie Bonus’, originally referring to a prize, and later money, which was given to a couple when they won one of the first rounds.
But as one catchphrase arrived, another disappeared. Contestants in the final game were no longer playing with points, but instead were wagering cash. So, ‘What do pounds make?’
‘WHAT DO POINTS MAKE?’
‘Rich people!’
It never took off.
ANOTHER EXAMPLE OF THE way Play Your Cards Right changed over the years is the way I referred to my fabulous assistants. In the photograph opposite, from 1980, I’m with Jan Michelle, Denny Kemp, Zena Clifton and Natalie Shaw, the ‘Dolly Dealers’, as I called them for a bit of fun. This expression, however, was deemed to be politically incorrect in the nineties – so I replaced ‘dollies’ with ‘darling’ – but then perfectly okay again in the noughties. Sometimes it’s hard to keep up!
The most important element of Play Your Cards Right, and I think this applies to all successful gameshows, is that we had fun with the contestants. That’s what I enjoy doing the most and it’s why I loved Play Your Cards Right. As with The Generation Game, I didn’t meet them until just before the show when I would briefly say hello. I didn’t want to know too much about them. It’s the spontaneity factor again. I wanted to be as surprised as the audience and viewers by the answers the contestants gave.
We would always have a much longer chat after the show. Over a drink in the Green Room there would be photos with friends and families and I would sign autographs. I always found this enjoyable, but I also thought it was important. The contestants had given so much of their time to us that the least I could do was thank them personally.
THE INTERVIEWS I CONDUCTED at the start of the show were similar to those before Beat the Clock at the Palladium in as much as they were a buffer. The completely random nature of Play Your Cards Right meant that it was impossible to know how long each game would last. In no time the game could be over, or it could drag on, especially if we went to a tie-breaker. It all rested on the turn of a card, and as everything viewers saw on screen was absolutely genuine, we never knew what that next card would be.
As a consequence of this I could take my time over those chats, generating laughs and a lot of fun, knowing that if we had to, we could edit them down to fit the required length of the show. Usually we were able to keep in a lot of the banter, which meant that when the game actually began, the viewers and audience felt they knew something about the people they were watching. They could empathize with them immediately, just as I did. I was as excited or disappointed as anyone on the turn of each card.
In the final round, when I explained the rules and reached the bit where I said that if they had accumulated four thousand points they had a chance to go for the car, I would turn to the audience expectantly and they would shout back, ‘Wow-eee!’ This helped to build an exciting atmosphere and again kept the audience involved in the game.
If the couple experienced an unlucky run, I was upset for them, but if they won, well, the look on their faces – that was priceless. I would take them over to their new car and open the door for them as the credits rolled. It didn’t always go according to plan, mind you. In one of the early shows I brought the excited winners to their prize and went to open the driver’s door … and it was locked. Someone backstage had walked off with the keys. People love these moments when things go wrong, and so do I. It gives me the chance to fake anger and outrage, much to the audience’s delight.
Winning the car meant an awful lot to the successful couples, and it meant an awful lot to me as well. I wanted the contestants to be as happy playing the game as I was hosting it. And that was very happy indeed.
WHEN THE FIRST RUN of Play Your Cards Right came to an end in 1987, I already had a replacement show lined up.
You Bet! involved a panel of three celebrities introducing members of the public, who claimed to be able to complete unusual challenges in a set amount of time – pitching a scout tent in three and a half minutes while blindfolded, or a gymnastics team performing one hundred and fifty somersaults over a pommel horse in ninety seconds. The other celebrities would then bet on whether or not the challengers would be successful in order to win money for their favourite charities.
Many of the challenges took place in the studio and could involve a lot of people. As a result You Bet! was produced on a big scale – at Shepperton Studios, no less. It was broadcast at prime time on Saturday night, a slot I hadn’t occupied since Big Night in 1978, and it was a hit. Yet …
I never felt I could make anything out of the show. I recognized that it was well thought-out and executed. It’s just that it wasn’t really for me; it didn’t play to my strengths. I decided to leave after three series, to be replaced by Matthew Kelly, who did a fine job.
Despite what I’ve just said, I did enjoy myself during my time on the show. Some of the challenges were astonishing to witness and we had a host of excellent guests. One of my favourites appeared in the second series; I was a big fan.
Let me explain. Don’t groan, but this goes all the way back to my school days.
MY NICKNAME AT SCHOOL WAS ‘SPIDER JOHNSON’
You see, growing up, I loved playing football. My nickname at school was ‘Spider Johnson’ because I was all arms and legs and I moved quickly. At Brettenham Road Elementary School I was still a little tall for my age so I played centre half, and when I transferred to secondary school, aged eleven, I played on the right wing. I was fast on my feet and modelled myself on the great Stanley Matthews.
I carried on playing football right through my days in the RAF and beyond, although as my show-business career took off in the sixties my appearances on the pitch diminished in number. Diminished, but did not totally come to an end.
In the summer of 1967 I was appearing in a Blackpool show with Millicent Martin when Jimmy Tarbuck contacted me about a charity football match he was involved in to raise funds for the Cystic Fibrosis Research Foundation Trust. The game was to take place the following day, 19 July, with Jimmy captain of the celebrity team.
‘You don’t play, do you, Bruce?’ Jimmy asked.
‘As a matter of fact, I do.’
‘Really? What position?’
‘Right wing.’
‘All right, then,’ Jimmy said, then added, with perfect Tarbuck timing, ‘That’s probably the best place for you. Out of the way.’
EARLY ON IN THE match, I had the ball at my feet and flew down the wing, beating a couple of defenders before sending over an inch-perfect cross that led to our first goal. Walking back up the pitch, I noticed Jimmy standing stock still in the centre circle, with an amazed look on his face. ‘Bruce, you really can play,’ he said, as I passed him. I just smiled and took up my position. For once I didn’t need a funny line.
The match was being played at the home of a local rugby-league team, and after it had finished one of the guys there offered to massage my legs. ‘Oh, yes, please, that would be great.’ I was delighted. I hadn’t played football in a long time and knew I’d be suffering. Now, this guy was huge, a professional masseur, and when he put the oil on my legs and started to rub it felt beautiful. Just what I needed.
Back in my hotel room I decided to have a tiny rest before getting ready for the show that evening … and when I woke up my thigh muscles were red raw and on fire. I couldn’t believe it. I phoned the secretary of the rugby club to find out what on earth his masseur had used.
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘he always uses horse oil.’
‘Horse oil! I know I’ve got a long face, but blimey!’
My opening number with Millicent Martin that evening was called ‘Who?’ This is a great song, with a lot of stops in it, during which, yes, you’ve guessed it, we had to slap out a rhythm on our thighs. The pain was excruciating. The things I do for show-business!
‘Nice story, Bruce,’ I hear you say, ‘but what has it got to do with You Bet!?’
Well, the connection is my love of football. Joining Claire Rayner and Melvyn Hayes on the seventh show of that second series was the rising star of English football, Paul Gascoigne, who the previous year had signed with Spurs, a team I follow. As a fan, I had seen him play a number of times and admired him greatly. It was a genuine thrill for me to have Gazza on the show.
AND, AS YOU CAN see, I took the opportunity to offer him a few tips from the ‘Spider Johnson’ coaching manual. Given how well he played in the World Cup the following year in Italy, I think we can safely assume he took on board everything I taught him that day!
FOLLOWING MY THREE SERIES of You Bet!, I returned to the BBC, first with the revival of The Generation Game and then, in 1992, with my own chat show. This was something I had been interested in doing for many years – I first talked about it back in 1971 with Bill Cotton, if you remember – and I wanted it to be a talk show with a difference.
For Bruce’s Guest Night, the idea was that instead of the stars sitting passively on a sofa answering questions, they would be far more animated, giving performances and interacting with the audience.
The first series ran for six hour-long episodes on Friday nights, starting in April, and featured many marvellous guests, including Pat Cash, Leslie Grantham, Ronnie Corbett, Neil Sedaka, Bea Arthur, Jose Carreras and Dionne Warwick.
I was very happy with how it had gone: it sparkled with energy and fun and the sixty minutes allowed plenty of time for meaningful conversations with the guests. The public clearly thought so as well, as the ratings were good.
For some reason, though, the BBC were unconvinced and I honestly do not know why. They were unsure about commissioning another series, and when they eventually gave it the green light they played around with the schedule and format. We were now a thirty-minute Monday-night show. Unsurprisingly, such a display of confidence condemned that second series as the final one.
It was such a shame because the show was popular, and even with its reduced standing in the schedule it still attracted top-flight guests, such as Jackie Mason, Tony Bennett, Natalie Cole and Jack Jones.
One guest in particular comes to mind when I think of that second series, because his appearance sums up for me everything that was good about the show.
In April 1993 Howard Keel completed his farewell tour of the UK and agreed to come on to discuss his career. As always, he was a wonderful guest and the audience loved him. After discussing with Howard his various musical triumphs and his plans to open a theatre, I asked if anyone in the audience had a question.
A woman raised her hand. ‘I’d like to wish you the best of luck with your new venture, Howard, and to ask if you’ve got a new leading lady yet. If not, can I audition?’ I asked her what she would like to sing and she suggested ‘Make Believe’ from Showboat, a song Howard knew well from his starring role in the 1951 movie.
She then started to sing, with a gorgeous voice I must say, and, unprompted, Howard joined in. It was a delightful moment and must have made the woman’s year. Imagine having the chance to sing with Howard Keel … and talk to me!
Howard and I then discussed doing a song together and he suggested ‘Ol’ Man River’, with Howard singing the low notes and me the higher ones because, as I said, my voice hadn’t yet broken.
We had put this number together in the BBC rehearsal rooms in Acton, which you can see here, where we fooled around with ideas until we had a very good comedy routine worked out. We had great fun that day. It was always a delight working with Howard. He had such a delightful sense of humour.
HAVE A THINK ABOUT ‘Ol’ Man River’. How many high notes can you remember? None. That was the point. Howard sang the song beautifully, on his own, while I tried desperately to join in. Finally, I resort to getting down on my hands and knees in a futile bid to be heard. Howard just sits on me and continues with his big finish. The routine was completely different from what anyone would have expected, and the audience loved it.
Guest Night was all about creating an atmosphere in which moments such as these could develop – I wish we’d been given the opportunity to create more of them.
BRUCE’S PRICE IS RIGHT came about in a similar way to Play Your Cards Right, in that I was flicking through the TV channels, this time in Puerto Rico in 1995, thinking about what might work as a new show for me, when I came upon the US version. I knew Leslie Crowther had hosted it in the UK back in the eighties, highly successfully, but it had been off air for a number of years. Both the US and Leslie’s version ran for sixty minutes, which I knew would be a problem. ITV in the nineties were looking for half-hour gameshows. But as I watched the programme that day it dawned on me that the two halves of the show were identical. Just cut it in half, I thought, and it will be perfect.
In September of that year the first Bruce’s Price Is Right was broadcast. Just as we had on Play Your Cards Right, we taped two shows a day, with the same audience, which meant I could have a bit of fun. At the start of each second recording, I would mention how much better this audience was compared with the ghastly one from the previous week. Everyone loved being in on the joke and they always gave the line a big laugh, but I doubt we were kidding anyone at home.
‘WE CAN’T HAVE YOU WITH FOUR FEMALE ASSISTANTS. IT JUST WON’T WORK NOWADAYS.’
As I have already mentioned, in the nineties political correctness was high on every broadcaster’s agenda. When Ian Wilson and I first pitched the idea to Marcus Plantin, controller of ITV, I had anticipated what their major concern would be. I had a response prepared.
‘We love the idea, Bruce,’ they told me, ‘but we can’t have you with four female assistants. It just won’t work nowadays.’
‘I’ve already thought about that and I have a plan. Why don’t we have three gorgeous girls and one handsome young man to display the prizes? That will stop any possible complaints, won’t it?’
They agreed, as you can see here, with Emma Noble, Emma Steadman and Kimberley Cowell joined by Brian Tattersall.
THE FORMAT OF BRUCE’S Price Is Right consisted of contestants chosen at random from the studio audience; their task was to try to guess the price of various prizes through a series of different games. It was very popular and ran for six series between 1995 and 2001. It was an excellent show but, as with You Bet!, it was never quite the same for me as Play Your Cards Right. Once again, I didn’t have the opportunity for the same laughs with the contestants.
In truth, the most fun I had on the show was during the warm-up when I chatted to the audience, explained how the show worked and what people should do if selected to take part.
‘If your name is chosen, come down and take your place. Please don’t feel nervous or intimidated. Try to enjoy yourself. And when I talk to you, just forget you’re talking to a superstar!’ This always received a big laugh!
