As Noel Fielding descends on The Great British Bake Off (29 August, 8pm, Channel 4) in a hot-air balloon, dressed as a goth Willy Wonka, a terrible, amusing possibility occurs. Is he about to infect Bake Off – the TV equivalent of comfort food – with the maverick sensibility of The Mighty Boosh’s Vince Noir or The IT Crowd’s Richmond? This would represent a gambit of considerable bravery given the huge furore generated by the show’s big-money move from BBC1 to Channel 4.

It’s only a mild exaggeration to say that a collective shudder convulsed Middle England when the news broke. This was a Great British Kerfuffle; the kind of bewildering storm in a willow pattern tea cup that makes homegrown kitsch so seductive and infuriating. A successful TV show was moving to a different channel? Big deal. But, actually, it was. Bake Off was a very particular show for a very particular time, and a finely balanced ecosystem of signifiers. It was twee but earthy. Sincere but far from unaware of its own silliness. The judges embodied yin and yang, too – Mary Berry’s matronly twinkle offset by Paul Hollywood’s scouse bearishness. Back in 2010, it felt like a Keep Calm and Carry On tea towel flicked in the face of the realities of austerity Britain. Let them eat cake, indeed.

And the fact that it was on the BBC was an intrinsic part of its appeal. This was the national broadcaster of record telling us what we were like at a time when we weren’t quite sure. And we liked what we heard. We were gently funny; culturally and racially inclusive; modest but extremely capable.

Bite-sized taster ... watch the trailer for Channel 4’s Bake Off. Guardian

So, bizarrely, in TV terms, the stakes are high. This has not gone unnoticed by the show’s creators. Because, despite Fielding and fellow newbie Sandi Toksvig’s mildly eccentric entrance, the revamp plays it safe. Eventually, that’s mildly disappointing. Fielding dials back his rag-week surrealism for fear of spooking the target audience. But without that, what’s left? Just a shaggy-haired bloke in jeans asking contestants whether their sponges have risen. Although, in a lapse of etiquette that would have horrified Mary Berry, he does eat a decorative marigold at one point. So maybe he’s biding his time.

Toksvig, meanwhile, seems strangely detached from proceedings; it’s occasionally possible to forget she’s even on the show. The pair need to relax and understand that, a la Mel and Sue, their job is essentially to make vaguely encouraging noises (garnished with double-entendres) to liven things up while the contestants gaze anxiously at their ovens.

Hollywood, meanwhile, is subdued and a little melancholy, like a sheepdog lost on a familiar hill, pining for its master. He and Berry may, as she put it, have “had their differences”. But Hollywood struggles for chemistry with Prue Leith, whose crime (not being Berry) proves tough to forgive.

These things take time. It’s hard to imagine anyone seriously taking against this new iteration because it sets such store in continuity. This timidity is understandable but doesn’t sit comfortably alongside such radical personnel changes. Maybe the show should throw caution to the wind, burn the bunting and embrace the characters of its new arrivals. And maybe in time, it will. But, for now, Bake Off 2.0 feels curiously underdone.