Newly restored and enhanced from the sole remaining copy languishing in the Pacific Film Archive, this documentary film of Billy Connolly’s 1975 tour of Ireland gives a raw and intimate look at ‘The Big Yin’ on the very cusp of worldwide stardom. Thought lost for years, this version was meticulously brought back to life by the BFI’s Douglas Weir and features additional footage previously cut from the original. 

Filmed over two days and nights in Dublin and Belfast, it showcases not just the irrepressible comedic talent of Drumchapel’s most famous export but is a fascinating snapshot of Ireland on both sides of the divide at the height of The Troubles. Directors Murray Grigor and David Peat present Connolly using a true fly-on-the-wall sensibility, capturing the essence of his live performance, interspersed with candid behind-the-scenes moments, press interviews and PR junkets. 

Opening on the Dublin leg of the tour, Connolly touches down on a private jet with tour manager and ever-present ‘super roadie’ Billy Johnstone. The initial gush of welcome and bonhomie (‘you’ve got to remember, Billy, we’re all Celts together,’ says one Irish dignitary) plays out over a subtext of curiosity and tacit apprehension about what Connolly has in store for the performances. Within these moments, spiked by grave warnings of danger on the road up north, we get to witness the man’s undeniable superpower; his indestructible ability to charm in any situation and bravely lampoon where others hold their tongue.

The film’s greatest strength is the decision to afford each city equal weight as Dublin is substituted for Belfast at the exact midpoint of its 75-minute run time. The change of both geography and sociopolitical viewpoint provides an interesting parallel with Connolly’s own psyche, as his natural gallusness wrestles with pensive introspection. Lest things get too weighed down, delightful cameos from casual interlopers (almost always carrying a trayful of tea) serves to puncture the hullabaloo and link each scene with affection and warmth.

As you would expect, the comedy, when it comes, is terrific. Material that became a staple in Connolly’s live canon (Glasgow swearing, drunk walk, ‘The Welly Boot Song’) is all here and greeted like an old acquaintance. From this distance, it’s easy to forget Connolly started out as a folk musician who told jokes rather than a bonafide comedian. He bristles at being asked endlessly to describe his act, but his innate love of music is etched into each frame and provides a beguiling soundtrack to the documentary.

Big Banana Feet reaffirms a comedy genius who can relentlessly disarm critics, dodge loaded questions and effortlessly unite a room with laughter. As a piece of social history, it makes Connolly’s ability to do all of the above even more remarkable.

Billy Connolly: Big Banana Feet is available now on BBC iPlayer.