On paper, it sounds like a criminally tedious basis for a TV series.
Yet more than 25 years after its introduction on the BBC, the Antiques Roadshow franchise rolls on as successfully as ever, just this month unveiling a Canadian version to go with its mannered British and American siblings.

In the States, the American Antiques Roadshow has been PBS's top-rated show for years, while the U.K. version's enduring, Coronation Street-like popularity on both sides of the Atlantic is sufficiently legendary to merit this posting on the BBC's own website: "The Antiques Roadshow has been trundling merrily around the country since 1979. The Antiques Roadshow is believed to be like the ravens at the Tower of London. If the show ever comes to an end, then the BBC will come crashing to the ground."
Hosted with typical, wide-eyed enthusiasm by Valerie Pringle, the CBC's cleverly titled Canadian Antiques Roadshow proved no exception to the established trend upon its debut two Wednesdays ago. The premiere notched a remarkable 1.2 million viewers nationwide who, for some reason, derive a perverse fascination from watching an army of antiques appraisers declare aging detritus rescued from attics and basements priceless treasure or worthless junk.

A good many of these viewers were, I'm sure, those with a professional or hobbyist interest in antiques, or folks of "antique" age themselves. A friend recently described the program as "eBay for people who don't have broadband."

But while the strong numbers for the CBC debut serve to perpetuate the image that Canada is a nation of bored, boring winter shut-ins, they also lend credence to a pet theory shared by me and several fellow, closeted Antiques Roadshow watchers that the show actually enjoys a curious, cult-like following across all demographics. (Several years ago, in fact, PBS was sufficiently encouraged by the show's popularity with younger viewers that it aired a kiddie-friendly special entitled Antiques Roadshow Jr.)
Maybe we're deluding ourselves, but Antiques Roadshow, in its various international permutations, is a show that almost everyone, it seems, will admit to casually tuning in from time to time. And, much to their surprise, rather enjoying.

It always amazes me how the Roadshow can suck you in. Perfect fodder for the 500-channel era, it's less "appointment television" than the sort of program one drifts past and drops into out of curiosity — or, in my case, mild amusement at the various appraisers on the show whose excitable knowledge of ancient teapots and pewter figurines knows no bounds.

One can imagine most of these endearingly fussy gentlemen still living at home with their mothers and long-haired cats named Gerald, surrounded by a clutter of weathered finery straight out of Uncle Monty's flat in Withnail & I.

Come to mock, then. But stay and you're quickly caught up in the mild thrills and occasional vicarious despairs that come with watching real people learn the true value of their heirlooms and flea-market finds.
There's a hint of guilty game-show excitement to be had when someone realizes that Great Grandma's armoire or a painting picked up at the Salvation Army has the potential to make him or her suddenly wealthy, and the show's deliberate, chatty roll-out of its appraisal figures is designed to play on all our capitalist fantasies.

We all accumulate plenty of crap in our lifetimes; wouldn't it be nice if some of it actually paid for the space it's taking up?

At the same time, one can also take mean-spirited delight in the crestfallen look that inevitably crosses someone's face when they learn that the embossed china plate they paid $2,000 for at auction is actually worth closer to $40. There's always that awkward pause, followed by a glance at the floor and a sullen: "Hmm. Well, thank you." That's the sound of dreams being dashed.

The Canadian Antiques Roadshow throws in the added curiosity of showing us how made-in-Canada merchandise stacks up against bric-a-brac from other parts of the world. I'm sure, for instance, that many a thumb-twiddling NHL player was delighted to hear that they'll be able to unload their old Stanley Cup jewellery for $12,000 or $15,000 once the strike pay runs out. And what exactly is the going market value of a Montreal chair?

So uncool it's cool? Probably not. Oddly watchable, though. And since it's, you know, educational, you hate yourself much less for staring mindlessly at Antiques Roadshow when nothing better is on than That's So Raven.