Billy Connolly’s Big Banana Feet (BBC iPlayer) is a fly-on-the-wall documentary with a tantalising backstory. The film, which runs to 70 minutes, chronicles the last leg of Connolly’s 1975 tour, taking in performances in Dublin and Belfast. It marks a point in time when Connolly was on the verge of international stardom but not quite there. It also takes place at a moment of volatile political tensions: Connolly was advised repeatedly not to perform in Belfast that year but went ahead anyway. Behind-the-scenes footage shows armed soldiers manning the stage doors.
Even that subtext has a subtext: Big Banana Feet is one of those diamonds lost in the rough of the archives, spoken about in hushed tones by the one or two people who talk about mythical film reels in hushed tones.
Originally released in the UK to a limited cinema run in the 1970s, followed by a small video release, the film eventually “vanished from public view” (which can also be code for “no one was that bothered”). For decades, Big Banana Feet was thought to be lost, although as one copy remained in the Pacific Film Archive, left there in the 1970s by its co-director (with David Peat) Murray Grigor, it wasn’t completely missing.
Regardless, the film remained unseen by the public for years, until it was eventually restored by the BFI. In 2024, following a meticulous paint job that enhanced both its audio and colour, Big Banana Feet was finally given a new lease of life.
One of the problems with long, lost films is that their long lostness and the excitement at their resurrection can obscure whether they were worth resurrecting. Peter Jackson’s Beatles splurge Get Back, for example, was a sensation when it was released in 2021, but that sensation eclipsed all discussion about whether it really needed to be eight hours long (note: it didn’t).
Big Banana Feet doesn’t contain any revelatory material like Get Back, but it more than earns its reconstitution, its new TV broadcast and its place on iPlayer. The film interweaves live concert footage with the sort of behind-the-scenes material and general gadding about that is now commonplace when every phone is a video camera – but wasn’t in 1975. As such, Connolly picking at his banjo or making jokes about the slow pouring of a teapot feels raw and fresh.
The mosaic approach also highlights what a manifold talent he possessed: he wears literal big banana boots on stage throughout but doesn’t reference them once; his humour covers the whole gamut from fart jokes to political humour, from slapstick to musical expertise. He shows sudden steel when confronted by aggressive hecklers but is emollient to a fault when it comes to easing the ill political winds surrounding his tour. He is a brilliant performer in every sense.
If you’re not already a Big Yin fan then you won’t find yourself converted as a result of this, but that doesn’t mean the film itself is a flub. There’s so much else going on here, from the way people dressed to how they spoke, to the sheer number of hotel managers, tea ladies and bad-haired satraps that Connolly has to glad-hand and placate. Add in the dark, grainy footage and the cigarette smoke and Big Banana Feet is a portrait of a world long gone, as much as a study of a comedy icon.
Big Banana Feet is available on BBC iPlayer