The Best 124 Moments In Taskmaster History (As A Way Of Escaping The Despair of 2020 & 2021) [20–1]
[Part One][Part Two][Part Three][Part Four][Part Five]
So here we are. 104 great moments from Taskmaster down. Just 20 remain. We’ve had some classics — Mel and Hugh’s deadly Scandinoir trailer, Romesh Ranganathan smashing a watermelon, Bob Mortimer’s horrible edible face. But statistically, those moments that you cherished and loved will pale in comparison to the next twenty moments coming up. You’ll be actively annoyed at yourself for wasting time reading about those old moments when you could have been reading about THESE moments — the Very Very Best Of Taskmaster*.
*(according to an extremely small sample of my Twitter followers and possibly also Richard Herrings’ Twitter followers because he retweeted the poll, so I genuinely worry that’s skewed the results here, sorry)
What will make the Top 20? Will we see more fan favourites — Acaster, Kumar, Mortimer, Tarbuck? (I mean, spoiler, but yes, obviously, that’s how these countdowns work). And what will be the Best Moment in Taskmaster history? There’s only one way to find out: reading on!
(Well, technically you could scroll to the bottom of this article without reading all of this filler, but…don’t? Please don’t, oh god, I need you to keep reading this filler, it’s the only thing keeping me going during lockdown, please don’t scroll ahead.)
First up it’s the young star from the most recent series, with great outfits, amazing nails and a worrying understanding of physics: Mawaan Rizwan.
20. Mawaan Rizwan Fills An Egg With Helium (Series 10, Ep 1)
Task: Land the most eggs in the pan. You may not throw any eggs. You may not leave the balcony. You may only use the contents of one box.
What happened: It’s the second appearance in the countdown of this fiendishly difficult task, where contestants had to build a contraption to deliver an egg safely into a frying pan on a podium below. While Daisy May Cooper came agonisingly close to landing an egg on the target using helium, balloons and a basket, Mawaan Rizwan had a different technique. After playing around with a few balloons and the helium (blowing one up, watching it float to the ceiling and murmuring, “cool, yeah, something’s coming to me”), Mawaan concocted a plan. Determined to cut out of the middle man of “balloons and a basket”, Mawaan looked at Alex Horne and said, “What if I made a hole in the egg and then filled it with helium?”. Alex didn’t respond — never interrupt your Taskmastees when they’re making a hilarious mistake — and allowed Mawaan to make a little hole and place the helium cannister inside the egg. With a supreme focus and confidence, Mawaan turned turned the dial on the helium cannister, and the egg immediately exploded. “OK. OK. I’ve just wasted an egg.” Mawaan’s attempt didn’t get any better (at one point he tried to fill a balloon with egg which exploded over his face, and at another point he claimed he could use a very heavy metal bucket to move the egg via balloons because he had taken out the yolk and “the yolk’s the heaviest part of the egg”), but with that simple act he had written himself into Taskmaster history. He was, and forever would be, The Helium Egg Boy.
Why is it so good: There are times in Taskmaster where I think the show is actively the opposite of “educational” — in the sense that the contestants put forth theories that we all know can’t work because they defy the laws of gravity, of physics, of basic understandings of mass and displacement, and, for just one second, make you believe that they just might. When Mawaan first said “what if I put helium inside this egg”, my brain immediately thought “no, that’s obviously impossible, you can’t put helium into an egg, the egg is already full of egg.” But when he actually started trying it, when he put the egg up against the cannister, brimming with confidence, suddenly doubt crept into my head. “What if I’m wrong? What if somehow, through sheer force of belief, Mawaan is able to put helium inside an egg and maintain its structure? What if it just floats into the sky like a delightful eggy blimp? What if with the simple act of putting helium in an egg, Mawaan has transformed air travel forever? What if-” Then the egg exploded. Reality interrupted once again. Mawaan, to his credit, took it in his stride, and reverted to a series of terrible Plan B s— he hadn’t put all of his eggs in one basket, or all his helium in one egg. But the helium egg moment is the one that will stay with me forever, because it illustrates the glorious strength of the show. Not only does Taskmaster make contestants do ridiculous things, but contestants can make an audience believe in those ridiculous things through sheer force of will. May none of us ever stop putting helium in eggs.
Position in task: Like every other contestant bar Daisy May, Mawaan scored nothing. Physics 1, Mawaan 0.
Watch out for: Katherine standing up for Mawaan in the studio — “I thought it was an inspired idea, and it could have worked,” and Greg really pressing her on that: “You don’t believe that anyone could fill an egg with helium, and that egg will then float!” When Mawaan tried to get Katherine to agree with him again “You do believe that, Katherine!” Katherine has to turn away, tears in her eyes — “I can’t look at you, sorry.” A beautiful, tragic moment of betrayal and stupidity.
19. Josh Widdicombe Gets A Tattoo (Series 1, Ep 3)
Task: Buy a gift for the Taskmaster with £20.
What happened: at first, this “buy a present for the Taskmaster” task was like the slightly disappointing birthday party of a 12 year old, where all the guests don’t really know what to get the guest of honour — Tim Key presented £16 worth of book tokens (the card was £4); Frank Skinner went for admittedly cool sunglasses; Romesh gave him a weird commissioned portrait of Greg as a thundergod with duck feet. Then Josh Widdicome put his foot forward — literally — and revealed that he had gotten a tattoo of Greg’s name just shy of his ankle. He then showed a picture of himself sitting in a tattooist artist’s chair, hand on head, as if he’s not quite able to believe that he’s permanently marking his own body for a TV show on Dave. Greg couldn’t believe it and demanded physical proof, pulling off Josh’s shoe and sock live on stage (“You could have gift-wrapped it”, quipped Frank Skinner), and revealing the tattoo: GREG in the Taskmaster font. Still unable to believe it, Greg licked his finger and tried to rub it out (ah, pre-Covid TV). It didn’t move. It was real. “FUCK ME,” choked Greg. This was the new standard — the moment the other contestants realised just how much Josh was willing to do for this show. If you aren’t prepared to get your foot tattooed for this game, don’t bother playing.
Why is it so good: The early episodes of Taskmaster are strange beasts — Greg is yet to reach his full evolution as autocratic “no-shits-given” Alex Horne Tormentor, which means, without that aura, the commitment to the show has to be cultivated from the contestants themselves. We’ve already seen how committed Romesh was to winning in the first series (making him sick with floor watermelon), but Josh Widdicombe made him look positively apathetic here. Josh in 2015 was the perfect Taskmaster contestant/stooge — funny and charming, but also not quite successful enough in his own right yet to be arrogant, and as such desperate to be accepted by Greg and the cooler comedy kids. As such, he’s willing to do things that none of the other cast would consider (who in this series would have even thought about spending their precious time counting baked beans, spaghetti hoops and grains of rice, for example?) — but this? Tattooing oneself with Greg’s name just to win a task? It’s pathetic and glorious in equal measure, the purest form of Taskmaster distilled into one single moment. In only the third episode, Josh demonstrated just how far this concept could run — if you could inspire these kinds of acts of madness, of desperation, in comedians, the possibilities were endless.
Position in task: First, despite a late challenge by Roisin Conaty.
Watch out for: the way Roisin Conaty almost sneaks in at first place with her gift of a mouse (which Greg had told Roisin he wanted when he was drunk). As soon as he sees the mouse, Greg looks over at Josh and just murmurs “Uh oh…”. Josh’s expression of pain at that looks like he’s being tattooed all over again.
18. Katherine Parkinson Can’t Find The Spider (Series 10, Ep 10)
Task: Put these wellies on the spider’s feet. You must carry a welly at all times, but you must never carry more than three wellies at once. You may not cut, untie or snap the twine.
What happened: the other contestants, once they had looked around the room and realised that there was no spider there, grasped the concept behind this task quite quickly. The spider wasn’t in the room, so therefore must be outside — sure enough, after a quick check of the outside area, they discovered it was in the garden. The other contestants understood that they would have to carry the boots to the spider, being careful not to tangle the twine that tethered them. That was the task. But Katherine Parkinson is not like other contestants. She, unable to find the spider in the room, had a full-blown existential crisis. “Where’s the spider?” she asked Alex, several times. “That’s a question you’re going to have to answer yourself,” said Alex, hoping to push her towards the discovery that the spider was outside the room, but instead provoking her into a final-act-of-The-Wizard-of-Oz-style realisation. “Ohhhh. There isn’t a spider.” She then started pointing at various items in the room (the floor, the ceiling, the little mechanism holding the boots) and asking if that was the spider, before cryptically asking Alex… “Am I the spider?” “Do you think you’re the spider?” “…no. But I could be, if that’s what you want me to be.” (I could spend 10,000 words just unpacking this exchange, but we really don’t have time.). After a few more moments of muttering “what fucking spider” and “I can’t be the spider because the spider has … eight…”, Katherine had another lightbulb moment. “Ahhhh. I know exactly what’s going on,” she said, with the misplaced confidence of someone who absolutely doesn’t. She then turned the table in the lab upside down, declared it to be a spider and put the eight wellies on the eight legs of the “spider”. Alex stopped the clock. He had seen enough. “Have I missed something?” Katherine wondered to herself. Oh, Katherine. More than you’ll ever know.
Why is it so good: getting the wrong end of the stick on Taskmaster is nothing new — plenty of contestants have completely misunderstood or misread tasks and have ended up with egg on their face (frequently literally). What separates Katherine Parkinson, the Greatest Misunderstander to play the game, from the rest of the befuddled pack is her bloody-minded commitment to being wrong. Fundamentally this commitment comes down to Parkinson’s greatest weakness — she cannot fathom the idea that elements of a task might be out of her immediate eyeline. This was evident over the course of the series — in the egg frying pan challenge, she spent a good five minutes searching for the frying pan, assuming that it must be right in front of her. In the water overflowing challenge, when told she had to fill a cup with liquid, she immediately asked “where’s the liquid”, not registering that she would have to find her own. Even her greatest triumph, the Marble Run, took place entirely within one room because it didn’t occur to her that she could leave it. The Spider Misunderstanding, then, is just that concept taken to its logical conclusion — Katherine Parkinson is so adamant that the task must take place in her immediate surroundings that she will invent a spider out of a table. And this is the brilliant paradox at the heart of everything Katherine Parkinson does on this show — her refusal to leave a room for a task shows a staggering lack of imagination, and yet by limiting herself in this way she then uses a remarkable, boundless imagination to come up with ridiculous, maddening solutions that stretch the very fabric of meaning. Hence why she puts some boots on a table and calls it a spider. Because as Greg says, what is a spider, really? Am I a spider? Are you a spider? What are words? What is meaning? How dare you presume to limit my understanding of the world around me? This is the genius of Katherine Parkinson — she’s playing her own game here, and she’s winning.
Position in task: Last, obviously, she put some boots on a table and called it a spider. Although still more points than Johnny Vegas who was disqualified for undoing the twine on the boots. Imagine losing to that.
Watch out for: Katherine trying to justify her decision in the studio by saying that technically the “spider” the others used wasn’t a real spider, it was a stuffed toy of a spider, so her table was just as spider-like as the spider, and then Mawaan picking up a chair and shouting “Look, it’s a cat!”. The show went full Rene Magritte.
17. Jo Brand Goes On A Sensational “Horse or Laminator” Run (Series 9, Ep 7)
Task: Read the Taskmaster’s mind. The Taskmaster will choose a card with either a horse or a laminator. You will receive one point per card guessed right in a row.
What happened: In a rare live task which included Greg Davies, the contestants had to sit across from Greg, a small wall separating them, and guess which card he had picked (choosing between the standard Taskmaster suits, “horse” or “laminator”) — in return they would earn Actual Show Points. Katy starts off strong with five in a row (although she hates the whole endeavour, saying it was like “Frost/Nixon”), Ed gets just the one, David zero and Rose one. Then up steps last place Jo Brand. The underdog. The rank outsider. She needs to guess right fifteen times in a row to win the episode. It’s never going to happen, surely. She shrugs, sits down, and starts to guess. “Horse.” “Laminator.” “Horse.” “Horse.” All right. Four down. Eleven to go to tie. “Laminator.” Greg is getting nervous. Something is happening here. “Laminator.” Right again. Greg murmurs under his breath, “oh my god”. “Horse.” “Oh my GOD!” Seven in a row. Greg starts to shuffle the cards, he’s getting scared now. “Horse.” Greg can barely stifle a disbelieving gasp. “Laminator.” “I am starting to think she is reading my mind,” says Greg, turning his card over to reveal yet another right answer. “Horse.” Greg is baffled, staring at the audience now. How is she doing this. What is happening. Ed Gamble turns to Rose Matafeo. They look genuinely concerned. The audience are screaming now. This was supposed to be a comedy show, and yet we’re seeing a display in the dark arts. “It has to end sometime,” murmurs Jo, almost not able to believe it herself… “Horse.” Eleven. “Laminator.” TWELVE. Greg turns to the other contestants, as if pleading for help. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers. The other contestants gather around him, guarding his head, desperate to keep his thoughts protected from Jo Brand’s voodoo. “Laminator.” “GAAAAAH!” cries Ed Gamble. She’s done it again. THIRTEEN. But then, just two away from tying the episode, she falls. “Laminator.” Greg reveals his card, it’s a horse. The end of a fabulous, odds-defying run, the start of a glorious new career in close-up magic for Jo Brand.
Why is it so good: it’s the fear — the very real fear — that runs through Greg’s mind as Jo keeps getting it right. How is she doing this? Is she reading his mind? What else is she reading while she’s in there? He goes from indifference, to amusement, to concern, to outright panic as Jo continually reads his mind — and then, at the end, when she falls, you can see a look of both relief and yet a tinge of sadness on his face. For a second there perhaps he — and the contestants, and the audience, and everyone at home — did believe in telepathy. The only person, in fact, who doesn’t seem remotely bothered by the whole thing is Jo herself — she remains the same casually bored shrugger throughout, even as she’s burrowing deeper inside Greg’s mind and discovering its secrets. There’s even a moment where she closes her eyes and strains, before saying “sorry, just taking a shit” (which, given her previous record for going to the toilet mid-show, you wouldn’t put past her). In the end her cool detachment from the whole thing, her “easy-come-easy-go” attitude, makes it seem as if Jo is in control the whole time. Perhaps she does have telepathic powers and got the fourteenth one wrong on purpose — I mean, thirteen is just enough to be exciting but not so much that it raises questions…
Position in task: First, obviously, with a record breaking 13 points for a single task.
Watch out for: the way that Jo Brand gives a few coy smiles and winks during the other competitor’s (less impressive) attempts, almost as if she knows what’s coming at the end. OK I’ve convinced myself — Jo Brand has actual telepathic powers and is possibly a superhero on the side.
16. Richard Herring Stars As Every Character In Alex’s Play (Series 10, Ep 8)
Task: Learn your lines and perform the scene. You have one take.
What happened: In this acting challenge, the contestants had to learn their confusingly similar and nonsensical lines in Alex’s new play “The Smart Steak” in just ten minutes, and then perform it in just one take. While Mawaan, Katherine, Daisy and Johnny had two parts to learn, Richard Herring had to learn all of them: Sam (a lonely Australian fisher person), Nicky (an excitable junior Scottish police officer, with a cold), Boss (a ruthless business person from South Wales), Dr Buckley (a mysterious and menacing Geordie doctor) and Parker (a former American football player). After the other four had performed their parts with varying degrees of success, the task ended with Richard’s Eddie Murphy-style version, where he played every part with a surprising amount of accuracy (in lines, if not in accents, where most of his characters sounded as if they’d all grown up in the same fictional Welsh village that they set the Go Compare adverts in). Sure, Richard might have delivered most of his lines like someone hungover in an early morning Free Fringe sketch show; and sure, every one of his line fumbles acted like little daggers into the heart of poor scriptwriter Alex Horne, but he deserved that standing ovation at the end from Greg, Alex and the other contestants. He managed to push through it with his dignity intact, and that’s more than you can say for BAFTA winner Katherine Parkinson.
Why is it so good: Look, let’s be honest here — we can talk about the accents, we can talk about the gravitas that Herring gave to the angry Welsh character of “Boss”, we can talk about the extremely unconvincing sneezing that his “Scottish” police detective did. But we all know why this is so high up on the list — Herring’s performance as former American football player Parker, saying nothing, hiding in the bushes and gurning wildly for the camera. In Greg’s words, Herring “absolutely nailed a mute pervert” — every time the camera swung to him he looked like Frank Spencer sitting awkwardly backwards on a chair. I desperately wanted to know more about Parker and why he was masturbating in a bush — in my mind, he had just been let go from his American football team and this was the only pleasure he could derive from life now: pleasuring himself while he watched four doppelgangers of himself partake in a murder mystery. Greg was also right to point out that while Richard’s performances as the other four characters were tense and tight (he had a habit of going “yeaaaaaaah” every time he became a new character, in the manner of a confused pterodactyl), his performance as Parker the Ostentatious Onanist was filled with relatable pain and truth. Some day, when theatres are open, Herring will surely reprise that role for the stage.
Position in task: He came first. Sorry.
Watch out for: Greg imagining Herring as a luvvy in the future talking about his performance: “I remember back in 2020 I was playing the role of wanking man in a bush…it was a very challenging role and people said I don’t know if Herring is up to it, but…” Cue to Greg doing his best “impression” of Parker. Disgusting.
15. Jessica Knappett Falls Off The Stage (Series 7, Ep 7)
Task: Hit the drum on stage in exactly 9.58 seconds. (Bonus) Most magnificent walk toward the drum. (Live task)
What happened: In this live task, Jessica Knappett just had to do a magnificent walk to a drum and hit it in exactly 9.58 seconds. Simple. Jessica, in her infinite (yet childlike) wisdom, decided to do a series of spins and jumps in her walk. She comically teetered on the edge of the stage, mugging comically at the audience, as if to say “wu-oh, I’m about to fall off the stage!”. Greg smiled happily. She was having fun. It was nice to see. Then, exactly three seconds after pretending to accidentally fall off the stage, she accidentally fell off the stage. Hard. She kicked her leg, did one spin, lost her balance and just went DOWN, off the side of the side of the stage. The audience gasped, Greg muttered “shit” and ran over, and it all got a Little Bit Tense. Then bam, Jess got back up again and declared “I AM FINE!” happily, like a seven year old getting back up after falling off her bike in front of a bunch of nine year olds. The audience cheered and clapped, Jessica smacked the drum happily and saluted the crowd. “I feel fine! I think it was worth it…” she said, before sauntering back to the bench where she promptly wished the ground would swallow her up and eat her whole.
Why is it so good: This is probably the Most Jessica Knappett Thing to happen in the history of Taskmaster — to start with, it comes out of Jessica a) acting like an idiot, b) having an absolutely brilliant time acting like an idiot and c) having no concept of her own safety while having an absolutely brilliant time acting like an idiot. The fact that she preempts the fall with a jokey wink to the audience where she pretends to fall over is perfection — like Johnny Vegas’ line about having an accident before falling off the stepladder, it’s too ridiculous to make up. She’s tempting fate, and anyone can see what’s coming next. Except, of course, in that moment (and in all moments in Taskmaster for Jessica), she is living in the present. There is no past, no future — just life, just now, just Jessica. The idea that there might be negative consequences for spinning about on stage and losing balance — that’s a problem for FUTURE JESSICA. But the best bit of all of this, of course, is the fact that the other four contestants were all wearing blindfolds while this was happening (to make sure they weren’t influenced in their magnificent walks, of course), so they had absolutely no idea what was going on.
Position in task: Last in the main task, but the winner of two tasty tasty bonus points.
Watch out for: Greg telling the next competitor (Kerry) that unless she sets herself on fire now, she’s not going to win.
14. Daisy May Cooper and Richard Herring Eat Watermelon Horribly (Series 10, Ep 5)
Task: Eat the most watermelon. You must not feed yourself. (Team Task)
What happened: This task was set to be a nice callback to the first ever task on Taskmaster, where contestants had to eat as much watermelon as they could in a minute (when Romesh Ranganathan ate chunks of red melon flesh off the floor, as discussed previously on the countdown and as featured previously in my nightmares). Except, of course, then the bloomin’ pandemic happened and ruined EVERYTHING — especially tasks involving liquid, splashback and other people’s mouths. The team who filmed during lockdown (Parkinson, Rizwan, Vegas, ie Team Unprecedented) had to socially distance with podiums and litter pickers, picking up the pre-cut melon (like some kind of Melon Buffet! Just as Roisin predicted in Episode 1…) from two metres away and trying to guide it into their fellow contestants’ mouths. It was fun, clumsy and awkward — standard sweet Taskmaster fare. But the team who filmed before lockdown (Herring and Cooper, ie Team Precedented) were given no such limitations. They were handed goggles, a boiler suit, and a melon, and told to go at it. The result? One of the most upsetting, visceral segments ever broadcast, where Herring and Cooper held the melon up to each others’ mouths and tear in, face first, like lions feasting on two sacks of meat. Horrible. Disturbing. And yet impossible to look away.
Why is it so good: It’s the speed with which it goes from being a practical conversation about watermelon to being an absolutely disgusting orgy of fruit-flesh gorging. Richard cracks the watermelon open (on the table, not the floor, take note Romesh), and Daisy begins a rather civil conversation. “Ooh lovely crack! I tell you what we could do,” she says, as if she’s part of a brainstorm session in a trendy London start-up, before picking up a massive piece of melon, “I hold that to you, and you hold that to me…” Then BAM, a switch goes off in their brains and both of them stop functioning as humans, but instead as feral beasts, slurping and slobbering on the gooey innards of their defeated foe. From this point on in the task, Daisy stops talking — she is only focussed on melon going into her mouth, and only grunts and snarls and gurgles pass her lips in the other direction. Richard, to his credit, tries to keep the banter up with several desperate conversation starters: “It’s like the Walking Dead!” “Let me put that on a plate for you,” and the absolute “couldn’t even consider this after March 2020” classic: “Keep it down, try not to spit on the one I’m eating.” By the end, after Richard has rammed more melon down Daisy than seems possible, Daisy is reduced to just horrifying, maniacal laughter, like something out of American Psycho. Move over, Romesh, there’s a new upsetting melon nightmare to haunt my dreams.
Position in task: Barely seems worth comparing the two teams, it’s like comparing Quidditch and Battle Royale, but technically Richard and Daisy won.
Watch out for: Daisy getting annoyed at Richard in the studio for not pulling his weight — “He didn’t really eat anything! He was just kind of watching me, which makes me think you were turned on by it.” Parker the Bush Perv strikes again.
13. Nish Kumar Swears So Loudly That His Candle Goes Out (Series 5, Ep 6)
Task: Using the flame of your cupcake, light the candle in the caravan.
What happened: Contestants had to carefully shield a flame of a candle on a cupcake through the house, out the front garden and into the caravan, while bypassing various obstacles (a fan in the corridor, bubble machine, sprinkler hanging over the doorway) — a difficult, dastardly task or, in Mark Watson’s words, “fiddly…fiddly” (because, as an extra complication, he was banned from saying any letter from the word “taskmaster”). Some contestants used their heads (Sally Phillips protected her flame with a bell jar), some contestants didn’t (Aisling Bea just ran as fast as she could, extinguishing the flame almost immediately). But this task will always be remembered for Nish Kumar’s tragic attempt, where his trademark running commentary finally proved his undoing. Nish started out fairly well, guarding the candle out of the lab while muttering “easy does it…it’s like defusing a bomb but the opposite” (???). He negotiated the fan with a minimum of fuss (merely shouting “arrgh, the fan!” with his characteristic trait of “telling the audience what’s going on even though they can see it with their own eyes”) before coming through to the room with the bubble machine. “Oh no, the bubbles!” A few more steps forward, his hand still shielding the flame, easing his way through the house. Suddenly, a sudden rush of blood to the head, and his running commentary went X-rated. “You bubbly FUCK!” he shouted, to no particular bubble in particular — and poof, the candle, as if so deeply offended by Nish’s language, went out. “THE CANDLE’S GONE OUT!” The task was over. Nish turned to the camera sadly, and provided one last tragic “tell the audience what’s just happened” line of dialogue. “The candle went out because I said ‘bubbly fuck’.” We know, Nish. We know.
Why is it so good: Nish loves to chat during his tasks, and he particularly likes to tell the audience things we already know — even before “Bubblyfuckgate” in this task Nish pointed at the candle at the very start and said “if this goes out there’s no relighting it, is there?” (prompting Greg to ask whether Nish is contractually obliged to restate every task). Sometimes it is genuinely like Nish is his own personal audio description service, and it’s strangely charming — the way that he shouts about every obstacle (“The fan! Oh no, the bubbles!”) and explain what’s happened (“the candle’s gone out! The candle went out because I said bubbly fuck”) would probably be quite irritating from any other contestant, but, because it’s Nish, and he’s clearly terrible and yet enjoying himself immensely, you can’t help but be won over. The Bubbly Fuck itself is glorious, partially because it’s so unnecessary (there isn’t even a bubble nearby to threaten his bubble! He’s literally just walked into the room!), partially because it’s so loud, but mostly because it’s so instantaneous — as Alex shows in the slow motion replay, it is literally like the candle hears the word “fuck” and extinguishes itself. What a prudish candle. Sidenote: I now shout “you bubbly fuck” whenever I see a big bubble in the washing up, and it’s extremely satisfying. Give it a try sometime!
Position in task: Second from bottom — fortunately for Nish there’s always an Aisling Bea to sprint to the door to save him from being dead last.
Watch out for: the slow motion replay, especially Nish’s slowed down, monstrous “Yoouuuu buuurbbbly fuuurrrck” and then “thhhhe caarndle’s goorn oruuuuut”.
12. Joe Lycett Smiles At The Camera With An Increasing Desperation (Series 4, Ep 2)
Task: Paint the best picture of the Taskmaster without touching the red mat.
What happened: A classic “don’t touch the red green” task, where contestants either had to draw a picture of Greg Davies from a distance, or negotiate a clever way of getting around the red green. While Lolly just sprayed paint everywhere and Noel Fielding did a surprisingly accurate recreation of Greg’s sex face (his words), this task will be forever remembered for the extra little challenge that was thrown in for Joe Lycett — as well as painting from a distance, Joe was given the task of smiling at the camera with increasing enthusiasm every thirty seconds. “This can’t possibly be fair then, because my time was taken up smiling at the camera,” Joe protests meekly at the start of the task, and initially it’s tempting to think this is just an excuse to distract from his poor effort in the task. And then you see the extent to which Joe is smiling during this task, and suddenly it all makes sense. He’s smiling. Every thirty seconds. Hard. And he takes the part about increasing enthusiasm seriously — his grin grows and grows over the course of the task, twenty remarkable instances, until by the end you feel as if he will detach his entire jaw and take the canvas into his yawning, maniacally gleeful mouth.
Why is it so good: it’s funny enough when you see Joe’s smiling face during the task — the way his look of intense concentration trying to manoeuvre his comically long brush to map out Greg’s face is interrupted by a cheesy grin to the camera is positively delightful. But where this task really comes into its own is when we see a montage of all twenty smiles at the end, because you really get an insight into Joe’s own self-belief. Smiles 1 to 3 are relatively tame, Mona Lisaesque expressions — you think he’s pacing himself, he knows not to go too big too quickly. Smile 4, arguably, is the first Big Mistake — it needed to be a small improvement on Smile 3, a “bumping into a friend on the way to work” smile, but this was closer to a “five year old birthday party” smile. Smiles 5–7 you can see his thought process — “Oh no, I’ve gone too big too early” — and he tries to pull it back with some “mildly impressed aunt at her nephew’s play” smiles. Smile 8 is when the pain starts to set in around the eyes. Smile 10 is a “oh I didn’t see you come in but also please kill me!” smile. By Smile 12 he’s pressed his lips over his gums to bare his front teeth like a chipmunk (the sexiest smile). Smile 14 is a toothless, manic, eyes wide number (the kind Daisy May Cooper pulled after her melon exploits). In Smiles 18 and 19 (the most difficult smiles, surely, so close to the end and yet so far), you can feel the pain around the eyes boring into your own, the mouth wide, the look of a man with nothing to lose. Smile 20 is one of relief. He’s made it. A stupendous, ridiculous effort.
Position in task: Second! How!
Watch out for: the fact that after all that smiling and long distance painting, he still came second with what was still a recognisable picture of a man’s face, albeit one with a knitting needle stuck through his neck.
11. Mark Watson and Nish Kumar Sing “I’m Always Seein’ You Do Cool Stuff” At Taskonbury (Series 5, Ep 8)
Task: Write and perform a song for a stranger. (Team)
What happened: in the final task of the series, the two teams were tasked with interviewing a very pleasant woman for five minutes, and then writing and performing a song about her in just thirty minutes. Nish Kumar and Mark Watson, the lovable loser and the tortured overthinker, were paired together, and you could have been forgiven for thinking this would go much like all the other tasks for these two over the course of the series — Nish would call her a bubbly fuck and accidentally crush his guitar in his hand in a fit of rage, Mark would pay £400 for an expensive drum that would still sound rubbish and be driven to a self-loathing despair. But no, instead Mark and Nish created one of the most beautiful, tender songs in the show’s history — performing as “The Diverse Stripes”, with Nish on vocals and his “wife-sister” Mark on drums, they played “I’m Always Seeing You (Do Cool Stuff)”, an ode to Rosalind and all the cool stuff she does. “I saw you translate a poem from Japanese/It looked so tricky but you did it with ease…” It’s a song filled with both admiration for Rosalind and her life (“I saw you listening to the Mozart Symphony…”) and lament at the band’s own inadequacies (“But my attention span is- hey look at that tree!”), characterised by the simple, admiring yet mournful chorus — “I’m always seeing you do cool stuff/I try my best but it’s never…good enough.” By the end of the song — which has charted Rosalind’s relationship with Alan, her life in Southport, and her love of beans on toast — the audience is whooping and hollering; Aisling, Bob and Sally are on their feet, and Nish and Mark give each other a little emotional hug. They took that risk, they went sweet and sincere, they bared their souls to Rosalind and to the world… and it paid off.
Why is it so good: I cannot tell you how much I was expecting this to be terrible. When Nish starts the song by shouting “Good evening London!”, to a crowd of one single woman in a deckchair, you can just feel the audience gear up for another Classic Nish and Mark Disaster. But as soon as the song begins, and Mark starts drumming, throwing out a little “oh yeah!” before the verse starts, it becomes immediately obvious that this won’t be another disaster — no, the story here is redemption. Between them, Nish and Mark have been through a lot in this series — they’ve been covered in yoghurt, they’ve been humiliated by a basketball, they’ve been tortured by texts, mocked by Weetabix, and hurt by headwear. But in this moment, it’s all made worth it. This was their crowning glory — a heartfelt song textured by their experiences (the line “I try my best but it’s never…good enough” pretty much summing up their time on the show). Back in the studio, after the little hug, Mark wiped away a tear, and I have no doubt that it was completely genuine. This whole segment is strangely emotional, and watching it back I do find myself tearing up a bit. Part of that is just lockdown (I cried at a Zoopla ad yesterday), but I think most of it comes down to the genius of the show. Every task is an opportunity both to humiliate yourself and to create something genuinely excellent — to take the cruel and arbitrary limitations you find imposed on yourself and make something inspiring. No matter how many times you are knocked down by a malfunctioning volcano or a distressingly loud ice machine, as long as you get back up, there is always the potential for redemption. Everything that looks arduous is a chance for greatness. We just have to keep getting back up.
Position in task: First (which, given the quality of the other song, is saying something.)
Watch out for: Mark revealing that during the performance, Rosalind just sat in her deck chair with no expression on her face whatsoever. How. HOW?!
10. Jo Brand and David Baddiel Take A Tea Break (Series 9, Ep 2)
Task: Complete the adventure (by saying the word demeaning). You may only open one task after completing the previous. You must remain together. (Team)
What happened: This multiple-part team task took the contestants on a hunt for tasks around the house and garden — tasks like wear a colander on their head, whisper three words that start in D and end in G, give the meaning of umiliante, sit on a bench and sing the Taskmaster theme. If at any point they said the word “demeaning”, the task would be over — the quickest team to say it would win. Not that Jo and David seemed to realise that speed was of the essence in this task — as Greg pointed out, they meandered around the house and garden as if they were on Bargain Hunt. Nowhere was the contrast between the two teams more obvious than in the task where they had to make and eat a sandwich. The other team (Gamble, Matafeo, Wix, or Team Upsettingly Youthful), fresh from screaming “HUMILIATION” with a terrifying fury, ran to the kitchen, grabbed some bread and any filling they could get their hands on, and scarfed it as quick as possible. But for Baddiel and Brand (Team Sunday Afternoon), the act of making a sandwich is sacred. It cannot be rushed. You have really have to think about what fillings you want. Cheese? Egg mayonnaise? Artichokes? Never mind the fact that you can put literally anything inside a sandwich and it becomes a sandwich and they’re against the clock. Eventually they plumped for a microwaved sausage sandwich (they’ve added cooking time. To a sandwich. In a TIMED TASK.) with a little bit of mustard. Because God forbid we could forget about the condiments. As they stood there, slowly munching on their sandwiches, David had another brainwave. “I could really go for a cup of tea.” Jo put the kettle on. This wasn’t even in the task! They’re being timed! It’s a timed task, and you’re putting the kettle on! They even had time to debate whether or not Earl Grey was better than “regular” — David sighed and said he’d have Earl Grey if he had to, but it was a bit perfume-y… (TIMED TASK GOOD LORD DAVID!) And so the two of them stood, sipping their tea, mocking the very concept of the show. A wonderful, relaxing, infuriating what-felt-like-three-hours-but-was-probably-no-longer-than-five-minutes.
Why is it so good: Taskmaster team tasks are usually about speed, power, tension — comedians being competitive, shouting at each other, passive-aggressive about hammocks, that kind of thing. This was the exact opposite, and it was wonderful — the visual equivalent of a nice long soak in the bath but instead of bubbles, it’s David Baddiel wondering whether he wants artichokes on his egg mayonnaise sandwich. The best bit, though, is the inquest later on in the studio, where David Baddiel takes issue with the “silly old people music” that the show put over the top of the footage. “We couldn’t put an action score on it, David!” Greg shouts back. When Alex reveals that the time to beat for this task for the other team was a staggering 36 minutes, David finally comes clean — he didn’t realise that they were against the clock in this task. Which begs the question… what exactly did he think they were doing? What could Alex and Greg possibly be judging if not time? How many artichokes they put on their sandwich? Jo, to her credit, did understand that they were against the clock — she, in her words, just didn’t give a fuck. Classic Jo.
Position in task: The fact that it was at all close says a lot about the other team — they got stuck in a loop of tasks and ended up doing the same task about ten times. But they didn’t use a microwave to soften the butter, so David and Jo lost.
Watch out for: also in this task, when Jo Brand has to whisper a word that starts in D and ends in G… so whispers “Guantanamo Bay”. I… have no idea.
9. Mark Watson Sends A Bunch Of Cheeky Texts (Series 5, Ep 5)
Task: Send a cheeky anonymous text to the Taskmaster every day for 5 months. (Special)
What happened: Midway through this episode, Alex Horne breaks off from his usual job of introducing the tasks to (seemingly randomly) muse on Mark Watson’s attributes — “he likes to take his time and to really get stuck into a task.” So much so, in fact, that they set him his own special task. Mark’s brow is confused for a moment, before he realises what task Alex is talking about and a look of shock and horror dawns over his face. Oh no. Alex is talking about The Cheeky Texts Task — a task where contestants (well, one contestant) had to send a cheeky anonymous text to the Taskmaster every day for five months. For a grand total of one hundred and fifty texts. Back in the studio, Mark is laughing, but it is the hollow laugh of a man who has wasted his life. “N-nobody else was doing it?” His voice cracks, he turns to the audience. “This task has overshadowed five months of my life.” The only person who looks more annoyed than Mark is the man who received all of the texts — Greg Davies, whose actual phone number Alex gave to Mark for this text-based cheekiness. Fortunately though, Alex has saved every cheeky text for posterity, in a little book called “Mark Watson’s Cheeky Texts”, and Greg goes on to read some of the best ones out: “Hey sexy, just getting in touch! This is the first of a hundred and fifty messages, you’re in for a treat!”; “I have a big dick” (the edgier side of cheeky, says Mark); “Can you lend me £50?”. Greg, of course, hates this task, because it’s been the root cause of five months of spam messages, so when Alex informs him that Mark actually only sent 148 texts instead of 150, he does not hesitate. ZERO POINTS. Mark looks broken as Greg revels in his own callousness. “What a terrible waste of time.” A perfect tagline for the show.
Why is it so good: It’s the fact that you know — you just know, because the type of person Mark Watson is, the perfectionism, the depth of thought, of concentration, of aching desperation to impress — just how much time and effort he put into those “cheeky texts”. As he says at the end, “if I look back on this calendar year, it’s one of the major things I’ve done with it.” It’s the two-part reveal that is perhaps the cruellest — there’s the first blow when Mark learns that no-one else has done this, and then the topper, that he won’t get a single point out of it. At least Josh Widdicombe got something out of those hours of bean counting. Given the torture Mark is put through, it’s easy to forget that this is also the first (and maybe only?) time that Greg is the “victim” of a task set by Alex — one hundred and fifty random texts, one a day, every day for three months would drive anyone to despair, let alone someone as needy as Greg (who apparently checked his phone every day, got excited because he had a text and then threw it down angrily when he found out it was just weird horny Mark Watson again). It’s an interesting shift in dynamics — usually when the Taskmaster judges the contestants, he does so from a distance, a position of power, and if anyone’s getting tortured it’s Alex. Here, he’s been spammed for three months so is judging from a point of anger and frustration, wanting to cause Mark as much suffering as possible. In a way, this task is all about Alex Horne, the puppetmaster — get Mark to torture Greg, then get Greg to punish Mark for the torture. And he just sits there all the while, thinking of more terrible banter to infuriate Greg with.
Position in task: Not available — special task, no ranking. IE: 148 texts, ZERO POINTS.
Watch out for: Nish having a great time (possibly just happy not to be the butt of the joke for once), and Sally feeling terrible for Mark at the end and giving him a hug.
8. Richard Herring Infuriates Daisy May Cooper By Not Recognising A Hippo (Series 10, Ep 6)
Task: Draw the animal named on your card. Each artist may draw three straight lines at a time before their teammates take a guess, then play will pass to the other team. (Live, Team Task)
What happened: In this (socially distanced, non-audience) live team task from Series 10, contestants had to play Three Straight Line Animal Pictionary (which is exactly what it sounds like) — one contestant would draw three straight lines and their teammates would guess what animal they were drawing. Team Not Taking This Particularly Seriously (Parkinson, Mawaan, Vegas) had Katherine as their artist and struggled to work out what was a wing and what was a jaw in her picture. There was a little bit of tension, a little bit of shouting, standard Pictionary fare. But that was nothing compared to Team Not Fucking About (Herring and Cooper), who had Daisy May as their “sketcher” and Richard as the Terrified Person Trying To Guess. “Is it beaver?” he asked to start with. No. Daisy drew a bit more. “Mouse!” Daisy bit her lip and drew a bit more. “A…dog!” Every subsequent line got more and more jagged, more seething with rage. “A caterpillar!” Daisy’s mouth was getting tighter, hands on hips. She drew what appeared to be whiskers. “Cat!” Daisy practiced some of her breathing exercises, trying to contain her mounting frustration. She drew a tiny little tail. Mawaan whispered, at possibly the worst time: “Oh I know what it is!” Daisy started waving her arms about, almost fizzing with anger. “I’m fuming. I’m apoplectic with rage.” Richard stared blankly at the canvas. “…hamster!” Daisy could not even look at Richard now. She drew four lines, jagged, around the body of the animal. “T…tiger!” Daisy had her head in her hands. She was no longer angry, she was just disappointed and also really, really angry. “I…hate you. I hate you more than my husband.” (Really interesting insight into Daisy’s marriage there.) Richard looked afraid now. Finally, FINALLY, the other team put them out of their misery by guessing Katherine’s weird camel-pelican hybrid as a chicken. But the inquest on the other team was just beginning. “It’s a HIPPO! Here’s its eyes and its nose and it’s in the WATER!” She pointed at the tail, furiously. “ONLY ELEPHANTS AND HIPPOS HAVE TAILS LIKE THIS!” Richard looked down meekly. “I’m…looking forward to doing this again…”
Why is it so good: Daisy May Cooper has two modes on Taskmaster — laughing herself stupid, and rage personified. She’s not laughing in this one. We’ve already seen (and we’ll see again) how the best thing in Taskmaster is that pure, genuine, unbridled rage, but this really is something else — it’s like Daisy is a ticking bomb, trying to repress her anger but unable to stop it from spurting out in her wide, manic eyes, her tight lips, her deep dark marks into the canvas, as if scarring the paper, such is her annoyance with Richard. Team Tasks do bring out the rage in a way that no other task can — who can forget the tempestuous relationship between Baddiel and Gamble in Series 9 — but this has a darker, sadder energy to it, almost like a Pinter play. I was trying to think of what this bit reminded me of for so long — was it Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Was it Look Back In Anger? And then I realised, no — it’s Milhouse’s parents playing Pictionary in The Simpsons as their marriage falls apart. Seriously, all it was missing was Richard to turn to the audience and shout “KIRK I WANT A DIVORCE.” To be fair to the other contestants — and what makes this scene so perfectly brilliant — is that while Daisy is having a massive tantrum and Richard is shouting out as many animals as he can think of, the other contestants are falling about laughing: Johnny is on the floor, Katherine is close to tears, Mawaan looks as if he can’t breathe. At least they’re having a good time.
Position in task: Like Daisy’s hippo in a beauty contest — dead last.
Watch out for: after Daisy’s furious protestations, Greg asking Alex if he thinks it looks like a hippo. “Nope! Round two!” Move on quickly. Move on quickly.
7. James Acaster Has A Tantrum At Rhod Gilbert For Closing The Garage Door (Series 7, Ep 7)
Task: Make the best extension to the Taskmaster house. (Team Task)
What happened: Another team task, another furious confrontation. The contestants had to build an extension to the Taskmaster house, and while Godliman and Knappett got on like an extension on fire (save for one bit where Kerry sucked her teeth, looked at their work and said “one bit of bad weather and that’s not going to hold…”), the other team of boys struggled. More specifically, one of the boys (James Acaster) struggled to contain their violent desire to strangle one of the other boys (Rhod Gilbert), while the third boy (Phil Wang) mostly just held up a kite and tried not to get involve. The differences in style were clear from the get-go — while Acaster suggested picking up the shed and moving it to the front door, before changing tactic and instead going for a classic ‘fence panel leaning against a recycling bin’ motif, Rhod Gilbert…just stood there, pinching his nose, thinking. “Thirty minutes, Rhod!” shouted James, in a typical childless-uncle-on-holiday-talking-to-nephews, “hey we’re all having fun but seriously” voice. Rhod looked up. “I have an idea. But we’ll need a lorry.” James had no answer to that, looking at the camera and stuttering a little. Then came The Flashpoint. While James and Phil were working on their bin-and-fence extension, Rhod went to the garage, where there were slightly better items for building an extension than, say, a bin and a bit of fence. Instead of informing the rest of the team, he closed the garage and started ductaping bits of cardboard to it to start his own, separate extension. James was fuming, muttering things like “Absolutely ridiculous” and “he’s almost fifty”. Things only got worse when Phil defected from James’ extension (which was admittedly understandable because James’ was just a bit of tarpaulin over a bin at this point) to help with Rhod’s extension (which was less understandable because Rhod’s was just a piece of cardboard on the garage with the word EXTENSION spraypainted on). The whistle went, James was still absolutely fuming. “I wanted to be on the girl’s team so badly.”
Why is it so good: While the task itself is a glorious, messy disaster, the best of this task comes in the aftermath in the studio. Phil and James instantly gang up on Rhod, who is just laughing and smiling away, like some kind of Welsh version of the Joker, impervious to the hurt he has caused — Phil pointing out that Rhod made Phil foreman and then immediately fucked off, while James looked at Greg with a kind of fury mixed with admiration and pity. “I don’t know how you’ve been friends with him for so long,” he spits. The highlight is James learning in the studio that Rhod had closed the garage. “That BLOWS MY MIND, more than anything else!” he screams as Greg stifles a laugh. “I thought on the day, oh it’s bad enough that he’s done that, and put the cardboard on and said this is an extension…I didn’t know that he’d also gone [opens up the garage] “OH, THE PERFECT STUFF!” [closes the garage] NNNNNGH!” James would spend most of the series absolutely furious — not just with Rhod, but with Greg, with Alex and with the concept of circles — but this is perhaps the moment where that rage is most justified. You can feel his strategy, his aims, being completely undermined and destroyed by the anarchy of Rhod — an anarchy which serves him well in individual tasks (taping his eyes open, creating a water feature out of Alex’s bottom) — but here it is just unmanageable. James also isn’t helped by “the spineless Phil” (Greg’s words), who flitted between the two “teams”, trying to please both but ultimately aiding neither. Phil tries to justify his actions by saying he was “helping the elderly”, but Greg points out it’s too late for Rhod, he’ll be in a home soon. “And I will build an extension on that home,” snarls James. Perfect, righteous rage.
Position in task: Last place — but for the first time in Taskmaster history, a contestant (James) is able to rant their way to an extra point.
Watch out for: When Rhod’s “extension” is revealed in the studio, James just muttering “I want to set fire to it.” Why is his pain so funny? A gift and a curse.
6. Nish Kumar Is Taken To The Back Of The Stage For A Little Chat With Greg (Series 5, Ep 6)
Task: Record the most incredible footage with a camera strapped to your head.
What happened: Two tasks into an episode and the unthinkable is happening — Nish, perennial loser, the Weetabix squanderer, the bubbliest of all fucks, is actually winning. Not only that, but the next task is a creative one — to put a camera on your head and record the most incredible footage. If Nish — a writer, a star of stage and screen, more than capable of creating some exhilarating footage — wins this, his lead could be unassailable. Could he really defy the laws of the show and come out on top? Our world is a scary place but there has always been one constant — Nish is terrible at Taskmaster. If he wins, then everything changes. The audience waits with baited breath as Alex reveals Nish’s attempt at the “most incredible footage”…thirty seconds of him doing a Sudoku. I don’t know how else to describe it — he walked into the house, sat down at a desk, got out a notepad with Greg’s face on it, and then filled out a Sudoku. Once he had finished, he did a double thumbs up and shouted “YES!” The audience applauds with hesitancy, confused. Had they misunderstood the task? Back in the studio, Greg wastes no time. He stands up and walks over to Nish — is he furious? Will he strike him? No, instead he beckons him over, before guiding him to the back of the stage, his arm around him, back to the audience, for privacy. They’re going to have a little chat about his behaviour, one-on-one. “What is this? Is this self-sabotage?” he murmurs to Nish. “I…just thought it would be really great if I did a whole Sudoku,” murmurs Nish, like a schoolchild caught in a lie. “We’ve checked it, and you weren’t even doing the Sudoku properly,” Greg gently scolds. He’s not angry, he just knows Nish can do so much better. “Pull yourself up by the bootstraps, really have a go at the show.” A beat, and then one final line. “You’re not a bad guy, Nish.” A compliment, but one which cuts harsher than any insult ever could.
Why is it so good: It’s the way that the whole thing switches from menacing to encouraging in a few matter of seconds — Greg starts out scaring him with the low, ominous voice (“Do you want this or not?”) but then turns, as he must have done so many times before in the classroom, to Full Blown Disappointed Teacher mode. Because we’ve seen angry from Greg many times before (angry at Alex for wearing a bandana, angry at James Acaster for not understanding circles, angry at Mark Watson for just being Mark Watson), this is the first time we’ve seen a little glimpse of Greg in his old life, as a tired and slightly annoyed teacher. That strange combination of disheartened yet supportive, where he’s effectively pleading with Nish to just live up to his potential once in his life — you can imagine Greg giving this talk to a number of his students back in his teaching days — the ones who were wasting their lives with damaging things like sudoku and thumbs-up. For me, the stand-out line is “Go on, really have a go at the show” — it’s so wonderfully patronising and yet despite it all, you feel like it’s coming from the right place from Greg — he just wants Nish to be better. He knows he can be better. Why won’t he be better? Sometimes I think it’s easy to take Greg for granted in this show — Alex comes up with the tasks, Greg judges them with an arbitrary fury, which seems like the easier job. But tasks like this demonstrate just how good he is at changing up how he reacts to different comedians. It would have been very easy to shout or laugh at Nish — and you imagine that that’s what he would have done if someone like, say, Rhod Gilbert had done a sudoku instead of a task. (Although knowing Rhod it would have been a tattoo of a sudoku on Alex’s chest, etc). With contestants like Nish though, Greg knows how to get through to him — a nice, terrifying one-on-one works so much better than a rant.
Position in task: Aisling Bea remade Taken with wooden spoons, Nish. You deserved last place.
Watch out for: despite everything, and despite the fact that he’s receiving a very public and yet very sincere bollocking, the fact that Nish finds it absolutely hilarious. He’s having a good time and that’s really all that matters.
5. James Acaster Is Taken To The Back Of The Stage For A Little Chat With Greg (Series 7, Ep 4)
Task: Most confusing thing (Prize Task)
What happened: Two series later, history repeated itself and Disappointed Greg’s Back Of The Stage Chat reared its subdued, ugly head again, this time with James Acaster. This time it comes at the very start of the episode, during the prize task — Phil Wang brought in a confusing little box (which he had paid 300 baht for, after much typical ineffectual haggling) which, in his words, “you can’t open, but you CAN open”. Alex offers the box to Greg to see if he can open it. “This is going to be good old telly, isn’t it?” says Greg as he starts to fiddle with it, trying to find the latch. Then… it happened. Out of nowhere, an inexplicable outburst from Acaster. “Oh just open the box, you pussy!” The audience gasps, and then a schoolyard “OOHHHHHH!” overcomes them. Jessica Knappett turns to James, scandalised, mouth open, as if to say “You can’t call the teacher a PUSSY!” James, to his credit, immediately regrets his decision — “I don’t know what came over me, I don’t know what came over me,” he meekly murmurs as Greg takes off his glasses and glares at him, the ice cold stare of a teacher who is about to lose it and absolutely wail on a student. Alex tries to hold Greg back, and just when you think Greg is going to fight James (possibly thanks to Jess shouting “FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT”), a switch goes off and he reverts back to the Calm But Disappointed Teacher we all know and love. He gets up, beckons James over, and puts his arm around his shoulder, guiding him to the patented “quiet bollocking step”. “Hey, what was all that about? I had only just taken charge of the box — if I had been there for twenty minutes I could have understood but I still wouldn’t have expected that kind of language.” All the while James is just looking at the floor and mumbling “sorry, sorry, I’m sorry…”, as if having flashbacks to so many years of staying behind after class. “Just apologise and we’ll leave it at that.” A beat. “I’m sorry.” “There we go.” Another perfectly judged intervention from Greg The Teacher. It did make good old telly after all.
Why is it so good: James is prone to two things — anger and bullshit. We saw his bullshit moments before this as he tried to claim that The Matrix was the most confusing thing he’d ever encountered (Greg explained the plot in extremely simple terms, James asked him to start over again), but this spark of anger seems to come out of nowhere. He hasn’t been wound up by Rhod or unfairly punished, he’s just watched a forty year old man attempt to open a box for less than twenty seconds and exploded. Greg’s reaction is perfect, and it’s nice to see the different range of Annoyed But Supportive Teacher Greg — if his pep talk for Nish was for a promising student who kept wasting his potential with lazy homework and bad sudoku, this was a pep talk for the angry student, the one furious with the world, the one who can’t bear to sit still for more than fifteen seconds without provoking people. Greg knows this — he knows that James’ outbursts are a cry for attention, and if he gets angry he’s just giving James what he wants. And so he just very quietly, very gently, gives him a massive bollocking and makes him apologise in front of the audience. James comes back to the stage, shaken, embarrassed, and Greg walks back and silently takes his seat, his authority still intact. A brilliant, sudden change of pace that gives the viewers a kind of giddy schadenfreude, like the kind you got when you were at school and a teacher took a particularly naughty kid outside to give them a talking to, and the rest of the class just stare through the window of the classroom to watch the almighty shitstorm that’s about to go down. A strange, nostalgic feeling.
Position in task: Last, but not for calling Greg a pussy, mostly because the Matrix is not that confusing.
Watch out for: when Greg goes back to his seat, he discovers that Alex has worked out how to open the box. Without missing a beat, Greg stands up and SMASHES the box into several pieces on the floor at the back of the stage. From caring and supportive to fucking OBLITERATING a prize in ten seconds.
4. Bob Mortimer, Aisling Bea and Sally Phillips Perform “Quite Good Considering” (AKA “Rosalind’s A Nightmare”) at Taskonbury (Series 5, Ep 8)
Task: Write and perform a song for a stranger. (Team)
What happened: It’s the second time this task, where contestants had to write a song for a perfectly pleasant woman named Rosalind, has appeared in the top twenty. We’ve already spoken about Nish and Mark’s wonderful, sincere and positive effort “I’m Always Seeing You (Do Cool Stuff)” as the band The Diverse Stripes, but Bob, Aisling and Sally took a slightly different approach — asking several personal and relatively traumatising questions (“Have you ever stolen” being perhaps the most leading) and then writing a confusingly passionate power ballad about all of her (and her family’s) flaws. Sally Phillips tells the audience (remember, just Rosalind) that the song is called “Quite Good, Considering”, but in reality it will forever be known as “Rosalind’s a Nightmare”, thanks to its first lines and chorus, which constantly repeat the phrase “Rosalind’s A Nightmare”. (Again, I feel like it’s worth mentioning that the only person in the audience for this is Rosalind.) “Rosalind has two sons/They are good men but inept/Rosalind is a thief but it keeps her out of debt…” It’s a ridiculous, pointlessly offensive song (“Rosalind, geriatric athlete, she jumps quite far, for a woman of her age”) which also goes into wonderful detail about her husband Alan and the medical history of the musicians in her string quartet: “The great thing about Alan, Alan could not be dreamier/But the viola player sadly, well he contracted septicemia…” As the song reaches its climax, Bob sings perhaps the greatest line (one of the bravest lines in rock history, according to Greg) “Rosalind’s a fucking nightmare”. The best bit? Rosalind is in the studio audience at the end, looking mildly baffled by the whole thing. “We captured the essence of her,” said Bob ominously. What don’t we know about Rosalind?
Why is it so good: Oh, there’s so much to unpack here. From the very start of the interview where Aisling, Bob and Sally were getting to know Rosalind, you could tell this was going to be weird — before anything else, Bob turned to her and said “do we… strike you?”. Fundamentally from that point on your relationship is going to be strange. Greg pointed out the sheer weirdness of the questions Bob asked — “do we strike you”, “have you ever stolen”, “what’s your favourite meat”, “do you want to have the ability to fly” — it sounds like a terrifying Tinder advert. The song itself is of course brilliant, and credit to Aisling Bea for driving the vocals throughout this bit — while Sally covers the harmonies (in a weird Kate Bush-esque manner) and Bob is clearly just focusing on insulting this woman as much as possible, Aisling is the one who sells the best, strangest lines (the aforementioned septicemia, and also “fiddling with their friends, yes that is how they met”), so that the song — while obviously harsh — never feels hurtful, just absurd in its utter disregard for Rosalind’s feelings. Ultimately, the two different takes on this song — one sincere, sweet, the other pointlessly mean and hilarious — show the brilliance and range of the show. Rosalind can go from being serenaded by two very lovely lads to being called a fucking nightmare by one of Britain’s best loved comedians in a matter of moments — that glorious unpredictability is what will keep this show going for years to come.
Position in task: Second, although only just — Greg was understandably torn between the two versions, and in the end it was Mark’s tear that won it for the Diverse Stripes.
Watch out for: a sudden, inexplicable gale which knocks over two Taskonbury signs midway though their set which Alex struggles to fix as they play on. Maybe God doesn’t think Rosalind is a fucking nightmare.
3. Liza Tarbuck Makes Alex Sit Bare-bottomed On A Custardy Cake (Series 6, Ep 10)
Task: Declare your love for the Taskmaster in the most meaningful way.
What happened: While some contestants showed their love for Greg by doing genuinely nice things (Asim Chaudhry performed a beautiful rap for the man he calls “Papa G”), and others went for the absence of a nasty thing (Russell Howard decided not to have sex with Greg’s mum, which… uh, thanks? I guess?), Liza… well, Liza went for her own, very special declaration of love, through the medium of Alex, nudity and confectionary. First, she asked a series of ominous questions — could she transpose her love for Greg from a thought into an action (alarm bells immediately jingling), and could she ask Alex to take Greg’s place for it, and then tell him how it felt (alarm bells moving to a steady jangle)? Alex answered with an “Absolutely” that he would later come to regret, and immediately Liza had a plan. She requisitioned a cake around the size of a chair seat (alarm bells really clanging now) and some “confectioner’s custard” (AKA, crème patissiere AKA alarm bells are ringing so loudly you can’t hear yourself think). She looked into Alex’s eyes. “Then I’m going to ask you to take yourself somewhere private, and put your bare arse into it.” Cut to the shed, where a cream cake is sitting portentously on a plastic chair, and Alex is gearing himself up for what will henceforth be known as The Event, with Liza sitting outside, as Alex commentates. “Trousers are down!” Liza grins to herself. His trousers and underpants are removed. “Right, here I go. You ready?” Liza sits back, listening intently. He lowers himself down, the cheeks of his buttocks looming over the cake. A grotesque squelch, and an unholy noise from Alex. “I’m in…” he murmurs, to the outside of the shed. “Enjoy it for a bit longer!” says Liza, but Alex won’t be swayed — “I think I’ve had enough…” He clambers out of the shed, his face ashen, his trousers around his ankles, a towel around his midriff. “What did that feel like?” asks Liza, suppressing a giggle. “It… felt like nothing I’d ever felt before,” Alex replies diplomatically, his eyes haunted, unable to process the smushed cake around his buttocks. “It was so…in me.” Cake drips down onto his pants, like little sugary globules of shame. Liza nods and turns. “Thank you!” Then she runs away like an imp, giggling maniacally. Simply put, one of the single greatest decisions and executions of a task in the show’s history.
Why is it so good: We’ve seen the lizard on a drill. We’ve seen the tinny little man crushed at her feet. We’ve seen hopping against the patriarchy. But this, from Liza Tarbuck, the final video task of Series 6, is her crowning achievement, the absolute top (or bottom, depending on your perspective) of her moments. There’s a kind of clinical sociopathy to her here, similar to Rhod Gilbert — before Alex goes in she goes through it like a checklist with him. “Now are we clear what you’re up to here?” she asks in that kind of haughty aunt manner, like she’s one of the parents who comes along with the kids on a schooltrip and not, you know, getting Alex Horne to put his rump on a cake. The way that she says, almost irritated, “I hope you enjoy this, it might be the only time in your life that you put your bare arse on a cake,” — it’s like she’s doing him a favour by opening up this new world to him, and he doesn’t even have the decency to be that excited about it. Unlike Rhod though, who barely reacts to Alex’s suffering, the real joy in this task comes in Liza’s happiness, her own glee at her own sadism — she’s really, really proud of the fact that she’s got a man to put cake up his arse on primetime television. “I felt so dirty!” she cackles back in the studio, as Greg struggles to control himself. She actively takes joy in how much the experience has traumatised Alex — “He was a different man! You were different, weren’t you!” She turns to the audience, trying to convince them, “He really really was!” It’s cruel, yet joyful and inherently ridiculous, and you just feel like Liza is having such a good time that it’s impossible really not to get swept along by her. I know I sound like a broken record, saying the same thing over and over like a man who has had too much cake shoved up his bottom, but this is the magic of the show. Before this series, I think my opinion of Liza Tarbuck was that of a charming DJ and character actor, who would be mildly titillated and scandalised by some of the wild and wacky things the show asked of her. After this series, I was (and remain) obsessed with her — a wicked, bizarre mind, capable of mad brilliance and disgusting, sopping cakey cruelty. This show lets people blossom like no other, and Liza is the embodiment of that. May we all find the happiness that Liza finds in making comedians sit in cake semi-naked.
Position in task: Joint first, alongside Asim’s Papa G song. But did Asim’s Papa G song result in Alex walking funny for a week? I think not.
Watch out for: Greg’s reaction at the end, a simple “Well,” which said so much, and then an attempt to say something else which faltered in his throat. Also Alex’s line — “if that was love, it turns out I’ve never been in love before.”
2. Joe Wilkinson Gets A Potato Hole-in-One, And Then His Heart Broken (Series 2, Ep 1)
Task: Throw a potato into a golf hole, without touching the red green.
What happened: The task was simple — get the potato in the hole without touching the red green — and yet in that simplicity there was the promise of a simple, perfect glory. A hole, a potato, a distance to throw from — if someone could get it right, they could be a hero. The first four contestants stepped up with varying levels of success — missing the hole, contriving various tools which would allow them to get the potato back (string, a broom, etc) — but Joe Wilkinson’s effort was kept for last. As the others explained their attempts to the Taskmaster with increasing desperation, Joe remained silent, his face giving nothing away. Then they showed his attempt. Joe stepped up to the hole, looking at the potato, then looking at the red green. Joe mumbled a few words helplessly about the concept of the task (“But what if I can’t… If I don’t get it…”), and it looked as if this would be another Classic Charming Joe Wilkinson Fail. And then it happened. He spun around from the camera, leaned forward, gave it a quick underhand throw and… in. Straight in. The crowd went WILD. There were literal screams. “There we go,” he said casually, as if the sheer brilliance of what he had done hadn’t quite sunk in. Back in the studio, Joe stood up, taking the plaudits, walking around the stage, like some kind of potato-chucking god as the other competitors rose to their feet, stunned, giving him handshakes. 14.3 seconds, comfortably the best time by around six minutes — an absolute masterpiece. On the VT, Joe wiped away a tear, the achievement hitting him. “I’m really emotional. I think that’s the best thing I’ve ever done.” And that was that.
But of course… it wasn’t. Greg was so in love with the footage (“it made me like sport!”) that he wanted to see it again, this time from a different angle. From above. And zoomed in. Where you could see the very top of Joe’s toe step over and touch the red green. The audience noise turned from cheering to horror in a matter of seconds. Joe stood up, aghast, hands over his mouth. No. No, surely not. He turned and walked off the stage, pacing behind the competitors, the despair consuming him, as Greg stood up and looked down the camera. “Sometimes… it’s hard to be the Taskmaster. Sometimes you’ve got to crush dreams.” Joe sat back down, head in his hands, unable to speak for a few moments, before quietly murmuring, “please don’t take it away from me.” He got on his hands and knees, crawling to Greg, gently pawing at his thigh like a mournful dog. “Please. Please.” Greg could barely look at him, the guilt, the power, it’s all too much. In that moment, the Taskmaster decided to do something unprecedented — to allow Joe’s fellow competitors to judge his fate. Joe was sent out of the room and the other four competitors voted on whether he should get the five points or be disqualified — Katherine and Richard voted against disqualification, but Jon and Doc Brown went the other way (Doc Brown arguing that if you really analyse the slow mo, those extra five centimetres he gained were crucial — if he’d been behind the line the potato would have been all rim and bounced out). Joe was brought back in and the decision was announced to him — his fellow contestants were unable to conclusive save him, so his attempt was declared null and void. Joe stared into the void as he tumbled from first on the leaderboard to last. In Greg’s words, “a genuinely harrowing moment”.
Why is it so good: It’s not an exaggeration to say that this is the defining moment in Taskmaster history — a five minute tragedy that contained the quintessential Taskmaster experience, the stupidity, the ecstasy and the agony. The pointless task, the dizzying highs of completing it so well and the awful, devastating lows of that achievement being taken away in the cruellest manner possible. It even has a three act structure, a cinematic journey — the set-up (our hero Joe must overcome great potato related odds to come out as a victor); the unlikely success (Joe overcomes those odds, achieves the task and thinks himself unbeatable, arrogance poisons him); and the inevitable, hubristic fall (Joe is taken down by fate and his fellow man and left to wallow in defeat and inevitable, undignified death). There are times when the show transcends comedy, when you forget that you’re watching five comedians throw bits of food into a hole marked by a flag, and you understand the stakes, the suffering that they go through — you invest in their journey, and when a comedian’s journey has such a tragic end (mere centimetres away from glory) and you see them crawling on the floor, begging for mercy, begging to feel that sense of pride and accomplishment once again, you feel that pain as intensely as them. This moment coming in the first episode of Series 2 is crucial, because it’s like it created the blueprint for the show from here on out. Sure, there were moments that hinted at something like this in Series 1 (Josh counting the beans, Frank dropping an egg and feeling despair) but this glorious, pseudo-Shakespearean carb-based tragedy is the pinnacle of what this show can do. At its peak, it doesn’t just humiliate or frustrate comedians, or even to anger them to the point of screaming at a cocktail — it can sell them a dream, it can give them that adulation, it can make them believe that they are a sporting legend, a Muhammed Ali, a Lewis Hamilton, a Russell Howard… and then it can unjustifiably take it all away. The moment that Greg announced that Joe’s effort was null and void — the moment that the show embraced the darkness, the dictatorial arbitrariness of Greg’s personal whim (as Greg said as Joe was begging on his hands and knees before him, “I feel so much power right now…” ) — was the moment that it became the unhinged brilliance that we know and love.
Position in task: Disqualified. Nothing else matters except that.
Watch out for: Doc Brown, having just voted for Joe’s disqualification, tsking and saying “that’s harsh, fucking harsh” as the verdict is read out. Glorious sneakiness.
So here it is. We’ve gone through 123 of the greatest moments in Taskmaster history, and I thank you for not scrolling to the bottom and finding out what won (PLEASE DON’T SCROLL NOW, you’ve come SO FAR, just keep reading a few sentences more). There have been some fantastic bits that haven’t even made this countdown — Bob Mortimer’s Scottish piss graph (“their water’s so delicious!”), Sara Pascoe’s Scoopy the Ice Cream Snowman, the first time Siân and Joe Thomas met and Joe clearly thought he’d gotten the wrong room and it’s just delightfully awkward…
But now it’s time for the reveal — the best moment in Taskmaster History. Or, to give it the correct title that’s written on the VHS (!): “When Your Friend Tells You He’s Leaving… Check.”
- Rhod Gilbert Hides In Greg’s Closet (Series 7, Ep 8)
Task: Creepiest Thing. (Prize)
What happened: As discussed previously on the countdown, a prize task in Series 7 could mean only one thing — Rhod Gilbert would bring in That Picture of Sexy Greg In His Speedos And Somehow Make It Relevant To Whatever Was The Task That Week. When the prize task category was “Creepiest Thing” then, Greg (and the rest of the viewing public) assumed the worst/best depending on your perspective of that picture. But Rhod sprung a surprise — he hadn’t brought in That Picture of Greg, he had instead brought in a short film on VHS. Greg looked apprehensive and resigned to his fate — he knew that whatever this was, it was going to be incredibly upsetting and disturbing. You can see him readying himself for it, putting his head in his hands, in dread. Even in his wildest dreams he could not possibly have been prepared for the the film. It started off innocently enough — Rhod sitting in what appears to be a closet, surrounded by clothes on a clothing rail. He stares down the camera and silently puts his finger to his lips. Arguably this is creepy enough already, but then Rhod shows us where he is. The camera turns slowly, shakily, showing a darkened bedroom, and focuses in on the figure of a man, asleep in bed. The camera wobbles before coming to a stop, revealing… Greg Davies. Asleep in his own bed. Rhod has somehow gotten into Greg’s house and is filming him as he sleeps. Back in the studio, Greg puts his arms up, less horrified and more exasperated. Yes of course this is what Rhod Gilbert would do. Of course it is. Back on the VT, Rhod turns the camera back to him. The finger goes back up to his lip, as if to wordlessly say Shh now. We don’t want to wake Greg. Back in the studio, the other contestants are stunned. Greg is disturbed. “I actually feel…dirty. Fucking hell.” Astonishing, upsetting, intoxicating and yet, above all, fundamentally something that makes me admire, fear and respect Rhod Gilbert more than I thought possible. The most perfect Taskmaster moment.
Why is it so good: Taskmaster is a show which subverts expectation, where anything can happen — so perhaps it’s appropriate that after 123 Moments where Greg acts as an untouchable tyrant, the winning moment should be the one where he’s at his most vulnerable, where he’s the one feeling humiliated and confused rather than one of the other fifty contestants who have been on the show. In the extended version of this clip you see how much effort Rhod put into this plan — this wasn’t just a little prank played on the spur of the moment. He went to Greg’s house for drinks with his wife, hid in Greg’s house, watched as Greg saw all of the party guests out and then waited for hours in the closet — first he had to wait for Greg to go to bed, which took about an hour (“You wanna see that video!”), and then he had to wait until there was enough sunlight on Greg because the first few images were pitch black. This is dedication, this is a full-blown premeditated act, verging on stalking, or breaking and entering. Greg gets more and more disturbed, going from saying “fucking hell”, “oh god” to just making a few high pitched groans — especially as Rhod starts talking about the audio of Greg sleeping. “A-pippi-pippi-pew” is apparently the noise, in case anyone was wondering. This moment perhaps embodies the length to which some comedians will go to a) to win, even if it’s for a stupid TV show on Dave, and b) to creep each other out. This is the joy of the show — that it can embody all of the complexities of the UK comedy scene, the weirdness, the creativity, and the personalities, without seeming contrived or disingenuous. It’s a show which can scale the limits of great comedians’ imaginations, creating wonderful and disturbing little scenes and sketches out of nothing, while also remaining real and warm, translating that “live comedy” vibe onto the screen in a way that no other show has come close to. It is a marvel, a staggering, towering achievement — and at the top of that tower is Rhod Gilbert, sitting in a closet, recording his long-term friend as he sleeps.
Position in task: Joint first alongside Kerry Godliman’s horrifying “gynaecologist” shirt.
Watch out for: in the extended version, after Rhod has spoken about the sounds Greg makes while sleeping, Greg turns and looks down the lens. “I’ll just get this on camera. This will not go unanswered.” Three years later and we’re still waiting for that revenge video of sleeping Rhod, Greg. We’re still waiting.
Well that’s your lot! Thanks so much for reading all of this up to this point (unless, like I say, you scrolled right down to the bottom in which case I say HOW DARE YOU, GO BACK UP TO THE TOP AND START AGAIN). Thanks to everyone who shared this and got in contact with me to say that they enjoyed it, and of course thank you to Alex Horne, Greg Davies and everyone involved Taskmaster for making it so blooming good. I write a lot of these types of articles (less long and detailed, though, thankfully) for The Guardian, so if you liked this incredibly pointless and deep dive you should check out my incredibly pointless and deep dives on Bones, The Simpsons and Channel 5.
If you really liked this nonsense, please share this on all your social media, because if enough do I might be able to justify pitching my plan for an article recapping every episode of the next series of Taskmaster in The Guardian… HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES.
