In an industry which leans heavily on the principle that once you find something that works, you should keep doing it forever, Shaun Micallef has long flown the flag for the virtues of creative restlessness. His longest-running project, Mad As Hell, may be about to clock up its 15th season – and the last one he’ll be doing, as he recently confirmed – but the man has never allowed himself to be tied down to a single option. Over the years he’s flitted from project to project, perhaps more than ever during the run of MAH, when he has eagerly pursued whatever takes his fancy between seasons, whether that be documentaries, stage plays, books or, in his latest incarnation, a game show for high schoolers.

Brain Eisteddfod is that show, where impeccably-uniformed youngsters compete in quizzes calibrated to the Year 11 curriculum for the glory of their schools. For Micallef, a man who has hitherto displayed little inclination to go against the wise words that WC Fields never said about working with children or animals, why this particular turn?

“I just wanted to do something with a bit of joy in it,” he says. “Something that wasn’t cynical, or wasn’t going to be interpreted as cynical. I don’t think Mad As Hell is cynical, I think it’s more sceptical, but the perception is, ‘oh yeah, all those kinds of shows are cynical’. I just kind of wanted to do something a bit different.” As to the specific attraction of a show with school-age children: “I’m nearing 60 – in a few weeks’ time I’ll be 60 – and my own kids are kind of beyond that age [of the contestants on the show]. I guess I kind of wanted to explore that age group. I thought that’s an interesting age group we don’t often see on television – and if we do, it’s representatives of that age group played by 21-year-olds.”

Previously Micallef has played around with generational curiosity – and with a game show format – on Talkin’ ’Bout Your Generation, the successful absurdist panel quiz with which, in two incarnations on two different networks, he brought a sense of madness to Australian audiences that local productions rarely embrace. Brain Eisteddfod is a different matter: the questions deal in real facts, the contest between schools is a genuine one, and Micallef – while still being, very definitely, Micallef – is assuming a role much closer to a slightly eccentric headmaster than the irrepressible spirit of chaos he channelled on Generation. The new show also has no studio audience: an aspect originally accepted due to COVID restrictions, but that ended up being valuable in developing the show’s feel.

“[With no audience] it is really conversational, with people not having to play to the gallery or feeling they need to be judged. It also makes me a bit different from how I am on Generation and Mad As Hell as well – a whole bunch of different muscles. If there’s any laughs in there, it’s from the interplay with the youngsters: genuine muck-around conversation like I’d probably have with my own children.”

Indeed, compared to Micallef’s established TV persona – which depending on the show, tends to range between mania and haplessness, with a penchant for Kenneth Williams impressions and surrealist flights of fancy thrown in – Eisteddfod finds him inhabiting a character that veers startlingly close to being … well, Shaun Micallef. The fact has not escaped him: “In a way it’s more me than I’ve ever been,” he admits.

It seems to be an ongoing theme in his career: as the years pass, he has seemed increasingly keen on being himself on screen. The days of playing an array of different characters in sketch comedies and sitcoms have been left behind, while more personal projects like his thoughtful documentaries on religion and alcohol have begun to take up more of his time.