Big Banana Feet (1977) – Documentary Review

By Sarah Morgan

Is there a better stand-up comedian anywhere than Billy Connolly?

There have certainly been several before and since who have had the ability to hold large audiences in the palm of their hands, making them guffaw with the odd word or gesture, while a witty one-liner or surreal story has them rolling in the aisles.

But few have managed it for quite so long or as regularly as the Big Yin. What a shame, then, that many of us will not get to see him perform live; he announced his retirement from the stage in 2018. However, lots of his performances have been captured on film – I’d recommend to anyone yet to appreciate his skill and humour to check out his edition of ITV’s An Audience With, recorded in 1985, to see him at the very peak of his comedic powers.

“No airs and graces”

Big Banana Feet may not appeal to newcomers, but longstanding fans will find it fascinating. It isn’t a straightforward recording of the comedian doing stand-up, but rather a documentary about his 1975 tour to Ireland; think DA Pennebaker’s Bob Dylan film Dont Look Back or his David Bowie project Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars and you’re closer to the mark.

Obviously, the mid-1970s were a difficult time in the country, with the Troubles in full swing. Connolly and his entourage nevertheless risked their lives to bring smiles to the faces of audiences, first in Dublin and then in Belfast. One journalist during a press reception actually asks him how he feels about travelling to the latter following attacks on a showband; he looks visibly nervous at the prospect, but determined to do it anyway. As he points out, “my records sell well there”.

It’s moments like this, as well as the mundane backstage set-ups at his gigs, that bring home how bleak life, even in showbusiness, could be during the 1970s. There are no airs and graces here, and although he travels by private plane, it’s clear that being on the road (or in the air) is far from glamorous.

“Groundbreaking and daring”

The segments we get to see of the shows are, perhaps surprisingly, not that funny; the material hasn’t aged well, so you don’t always get an impression of how groundbreaking and daring Connolly was. However, he comes across as being thoroughly decent, and is unfailingly polite, managing to charm the tea lady and remaining pleasant in the face of some occasionally odd questions from journalists. So while the laughs are sparse, an idea of the man behind them is writ large.

Extras include a conversation between director Murray Grigor and Connolly’s then-tour manager, Billy Johnson, recorded at this year’s Glasgow Film Festival, where the newly restored documentary, which had long been thought lost, was premiered.

However, I particularly enjoyed Clydescope, a half-hour tour along the Clyde with Connolly as your guide, and with animation designed by his friend, the late lamented artist and writer John Byrne. It’s an anarchic, silly, yet informative offering, and in those respects, is not unlike the star himself.