In the UK for a good chunk of the 1980s, many a damp and miserable Winter early evening was cheered up immeasurably by the presence of The Adventure Game, a very gentle and sometimes quite sedate science fiction game show created by producer Patrick Dowling. Although there were dalliances with an morning Saturday slot on BBC One (in the first series) and a summer run in 1982 (the second series), it was largely on BBC Two that most of us caught up with it and mainly in Autumnal of Winter slots that coincided with many families’ evening meal times, merely adding to its overall sense of charming cosiness.

The format was simplicity itself. A group of human contestants, typically two BBC celebrities and a member of the viewing public, are transported to the distant planet Arg (“on the far side of the galaxy, in a region frequently visited by time travellers”) where the eccentric inhabitants challenge them to a series of tasks, the reward for which would be different in most of the four series, but which would always culminate with the team trying to negotiate “The Vortex”, a grid of pads suspended over open space that had to be crossed in the right sequence or the player would be evaporated. Primitive 80s computers like the BBC Micro, the Apple II and the HP 9845 Technical, all of which are relics now but at the time looked like the highest of high technology were often used to aid and/or hinder the progress of the Earth people.

It was inspired by Dowling and director (later producer) Ian Oliver being fascinated by the late 70s Dungeons and Dragons craze and wanting to find a way to bring the same sort of game play to television. They stirred in shared loves of early computer games, mathematical problem solving, the strangeness of the writing of Lewis Carroll and the lateral thinking philosophy of Edward De Bono and came up with a programme that’s still fondly remembered by those around to see it at the time. They were also fans of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and initially approached writer Douglas Adams to write the first series, but he had to cry off as he was working on the television version of his hit radio show.

Among the Argonds (whose real appearance was as dragons – the race and the people were often named using anagrams of “dragon” or “dragons”) encountered each week were The Rangdo, sometimes referred to as “Uncle,” initially seen in human form (played by Ian Messiter) but later choosing to present as a large aspidistra plant (controlled by Kenny Baker); the friendly and helpful Gnoard (Charmian Gradwell) who helped the players along their way, relaced in the final year by Dorgan (Sarah Lam); in series one, newsreader Moira Stewart was similarly helpful as the welcoming host; the hard-of-hearing butler Gandor (Chris Leaver); and Rongad (Bill Homewood), An Australian-accented Argond who only ever spoke backwards (he was fond of singing Waltzing Matilda in reverse and encouraging contestants with a friendly “doog yrev.”) The Argonds are described as having “a regrettable sense of humour,” which is where their penchant for game-playing comes from. Contestant included Blue Peter presenters Leslie Judd (who played a traitorous mole throughout series two, trying to scupper the contestants plans) and Sarah Greene, Blake’s 7 (1978-1981)‘s Paul Darrow, Doctor Who (1963-1989)’s Bonnie Langford, Janet Fielding, actress Madeline Smith and a host of TV presenter favourites like Maggie Philbin, Keith Chegwin, James Burke, John Craven and Noel Edmonds.

The tasks were often fiendishly difficult, keeping Gradwell and Lam busy providing additional clues and pointers and while the show has often been spoken off as a forerunner of The Crystal Maze (1990-1995; 2017-2020), there are also inescapable elements of the escape room attractions that have proliferated in recent years, and it even feels like a more sedate version of the highly popular Taskmaster (2015-). There was much fun to be had watching household names and faces getting themselves in a twist trying to figure out how it all works (a solution in one first series episode relied on the contestants either knowing or having the wherewithal to look up the date of the Charge of the Light Brigade) and wondering how many of them were going to get fried on The Vortex (a surprisingly high number it turned out). There were no clues given as to exactly how the sequence of coloured and patterned steps across a rigged floor was supposed to work and if an explanation for the right sequence needed to get across The Vortex was ever offered it’s disappeared in the mists of time (contestants offered had to resort to throwing green cheese rolls onto the target steps to see if they were obliterated.)

But the mechanics of the game were never a big deal. The enjoyment came from the gentle pace, the sly humour, and the unashamedly intellectual nature of the challenges. It was a programme in which show-offs could never prosper, the answers only revealing themselves through concerted teamwork. In later episodes, there was a brief flirtation with the phone-in, inviting children to call in with their own suggestion as to what presents the The Rangdo might like (favoured presents earned cheese roll rewards) but hardly anyone seems to remember those bits, so inconsequential were they.

Only twenty-two episodes were produced over four series and one wonders if the BBC eventually became tired of the expense of it al. It relied heavily on special effects (primitive by today’s standards but pretty ground-breaking for the time) and because there was no script for the contestants, each episode hade to be edited down from as much as two hours of recorded material. Certainly, they didn’t seem all that concerned about looking after it once it had been broadcast – the tapes of two episodes from the first year, two from the second (though home recordings of the latter exist) and the unbroadcast pilot were wiped – but it’s proven a hard memory for many to shake. The surviving episodes were finally released on DVD in 2017 which pleased its army of fans but only exposed the stately pace and unashamedly intellectual bent that might alienate viewers today. More fool them if that’s the case. It remains a thoroughly charming, often very funny and frequently very silly programme which, for those of us of a certain age, remains much imitated but rarely bettered. When we bang on that “they don’t make ’em like they used to” (and we do, frequently), The Adventure Game is a great example of the very thing we’re talking about.