Inspired by D. A. Pennebaker’s Bob Dylan documentary Don’t Look Back, which is something director Murray Grigor discusses in one of the special features, Billy Connolly: Big Banana Feet is an inimitable insight into the comedian at a hugely high point of his career, where he decided to put himself into a world that others, at the time, weren’t openly considering – that of the 1970s Dublin and Belfast, with both Irish cities fully enveloped in the Troubles and concentrated political unrest.

While documentaries of this ilk may seem common ground now, especially in the last 15 years or so, Grigor’s film (with cinematography from David Peat) is remarkably modern considering it was filmed in 1975 (and released in 1976), so it’s fair to call it groundbreaking, especially considering the risks they took in making it. It also encapsulates and depicts the true, outgoing essence of the now legendary comedian, in what could be a volatile situation, and somehow makes it as charming and insightful as Billy Connolly, aka ‘The Big Yin’, himself.

Similarly, while comedy tours of this style feel common place today, Connolly consistently reinvented and so witnessing his style in an era of 70s comedians (especially in the UK) who weren’t being as exciting in the mainstream is great to see. When Billy landed in Ireland, he’d been on a 7-week tour around the UK, but even after many warnings (and people like Johnny Cash cancelling Irish gigs due to the sincere threat of bombings), his small team and the filmmakers felt that one night in Dublin and two shows in one night in Belfast were something they wanted to do – and it’s become somewhat infused in positive folklore forever more.

Grigor’s 1976 film Big Banana Feet, as seen in this special BFI release, has been restored in 2k from the original 16mm (with a lot of thanks to the BFI’s Douglas Weir). While it retains a wondrous grainy feel, and sometimes the image is a little dark to make things out, it fits the vibe and the era it represents. The documentary opens with Billy and his team (including manager Billy Johnson who features prominently) getting off a small plane at Dublin Airport and, I assume, where he’s greeted by a small entourage of managers and PR-type people. It’s low key – and immediately shows Connolly having friendly chats with the folks he’s introduced to, including a fellow Connolly and other genial discussions with random people. You get to see that while Billy knows he’s being filmed, he plays on it in a comic sense, saying he’d better pose/carry the bags for a moment, and get someone to pick up the heavy stuff once the cameras stop rolling.

Taken into a Hotel room, where the likes of Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton and Rod Stewart no less have previously been put up, he makes that verbal sound we all make if a hotel bedroom is a little fancier than we’d expected, and the manager is clearly happy to have him there. Due to this being 1975, it does feel like there’s quite the element of cinema verité in play, even if the main focus is aware, others involved aren’t so – as if they’re told just to ignore the camera – and it feels quite common that most people who meet him are just pleased to chat to Billy and his natural charm comes through without any noticeable setups. A particularly lovely moment happens with an upbeat tea lady, and a slow teapot, and her face shows us the joy of the situation.

After this steady opening, there are some momentary soundbites alongside snippets of Billy on stage cut together, as we witness every element of the touring world – which includes him meeting the press and dealing with some very dull questions from one specific reporter (keep an eye out for the hands of Billy Johnson holding a newspaper in the background), plus others who appear more excited to have him there. It’s evidence of what actually what goes on behind the scenes of fame and live shows and, yes (from personal experience) a lot of it is sitting around, waiting for the main event to happen – and rarely that flashy or thrilling in the downtime.

During an off-camera interview regarding being in Ireland, Billy mentions being a little frightened of the possibility of something bad happening, but he also trusts his audience, as he successfully sells records (of his comedy) in the country, and those people deserve to see him live, and that’s why he’s there. It’s great to see that well-known persona, even sometime before I was even alive, showing that human element has always existed – which says a lot about his long-term success, and the high regard we have for him today.  

Big Banana Feet also reveals the deeper elements of his approach to comedy, which shows he’s never feared the wide range of subjects, whether it’s religion, politics, toilet humour, surrealism, or a whole combination of them all. I’m reasonably sure I heard Eddie Izzard talk about Connolly’s influence on him growing up, and you can see the inspiration – veering off in and out of stories, with all the odds and ends of brilliant, smart madness.

Also, once we hit the big Belfast shows, it’s insightful to hear Billy discuss his in-the-moment decision to drop any military-related comedy he might have done elsewhere because of the obvious, human point: why would the audience want to hear that tonight, if it’s in their lives every day? Billy’s aim is to take them away from the pain and depression of the real world, even if it’s just for a short time– and the roar of the crowd tells you that’s definitely the right choice.

Big Banana Feet is a treat for giving us the opportunity to hear both his original comedy songs, and even the more serious nature of why kids go to war (and what they’re promised), as well as the ways he dealt with hecklers and the nature of everything positive and entertaining from the man.

This is a fascinating journey and at only 77 minutes long, it deserves your attention because Billy Connolly shows you that his appeal and humour is no holds barred, while also effortlessly juxtaposing the human understanding of everyday life in all its ups, downs, and joyful ridiculousness.

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Special Features

Murray Grigor, the director, and Billy Johnson (with now white of that impressive black hair), the road manager on Connolly’s tour of Ireland, on stage and having a chat at the Glasgow Film Festival, after the Premiere. Grigor offers further insight on the process of how the documentary came together, and a few stories along the way to. Including the height of the troubles, and comedy he takes out of it, and how Billy decided to give it pure escapism to the audience.

The sound isn’t great for Johnson, as he joined them from the audience, but you can put on the subtitles, and it’s worth it for the memories.

There’s also the utterly surreal Clydescope, which has those Monty Python-like animation for the opening, but is over a strange, yet amusing, panorama of the Clyde, from Biggar to Brodick, with Billy Connolly as your guide. Look out for a young Bill Paterson!

There’s a nice brief restoration demo, which displays a ‘before and after’ look at the restoration of Big Banana Feet, and the re-release trailer, particularly focusing on the getting off the plane moment, and meeting the soldiers at the airport.

There’s also 1975’S BLAST, which is Grigor’s award-winning short film exploring Vorticism, a radical art movement of the early 20th century, made for the Arts Council of Great Britain.

And, one more thing, you also get a fine Booklet featuring fresh writing by Claire Buchanan, David Archibald, Tom Milne (original 1977 review), Murray Grigor, and Douglas Weir. This adds that extra layer to proceedings, recapping some of the visual extras but also giving personal ponderings – whilst reminding us of Billy’s innate brilliance to make everyone feel like they’re a little part of his storytelling… and I didn’t even get to why he’s got the Banana Boots, but he can explain that for you in the documentary…

Billy Connolly: Big Banana Feet is out from the BFI on 20 May, order here: https://amzn.to/3UWFqDv