User Reviews

This easy-going musical has two main things going for it. First and foremost, there's Paul Robeson singing five of the movie's songs with his rich baritone voice, always a great pleasure even when the songs aren't too memorable. And second is watching Paul Robeson act in his natural personable style. The plot, with the police asking him to help find a missing boy, was just an excuse to fill in time between songs. But I also enjoyed Elisabeth Welch singing two nice torch songs, and the comedy provided by some of the rest of the cast. A big surprise was seeing the great Margaret Rutherford in a small unbilled role, right at the start of her movie career.

What I thought was so remarkable about this film was that the characters were racially diverse and getting along just fine. It was like, no question, your here and I am here and working together and all getting along without noticing differences in our skin color or ethnicity. Unless I totally missed something it seems to be way ahead of itself in that regard.

This is one of a number of films that Robeson made here in the UK simply because he couldn't get decent parts in American films because of the colour of his skin.Its just a shame that some of the films he made here,like this one were second rate.So the best thing to do is wait for the numerous musical numbers from both Robeson and Welch.He had a truly magnificent voice.

Dock worker Paul Robeson and sloon singer Elisabeth Welch shelter runaway Eldon Gorst, whose rich parents want him back.

It's a very slight story with the point being to show Robeson's easy-going charm with children, and to listen to him and Miss Welch sing. This they do several times over the course of 73 minutes, and it's a pleasure to listen to Miss Welch's bel canto, and Robeson's deep bass, but it's another case of a show where they should have thrown away the script and given the audience a straight revue.

After starring in Song of Freedom together, Paul Robeson and Elizabeth Welch reunited in this, Big Fella. They end up temporarily caring for a rich white kid (Eldon Gorst) who's run away from his parents because he feels stifled. I'll stop there and just say it's wonderful to once again hear both Robeson and Ms. Welch singing to their heart's content whenever they get the chance. I was partly amused by the plot and some of the interactions though this is probably the most trifle of Robeson's British movies. Good thing it's only an hour and 10 minutes. Since this is Black History Month, I have to note also the appearance of Lawrence Brown as one of Paul's friends. Oh, and also Paul's wife Eslanda as the café proprietor who gives him a tongue lashing at one point. Both previously appeared with him in Jericho. So on that note, Big Fella is worth a look.

The great Paul Robeson sings several songs in this British comedy, but the plot and production values are so modest as to be almost nonexistent. "Marseilles" is clearly no further south than an English studio, and is full of cockneys. Robeson's character is asked by the police to help find a missing English boy (who, when he turns up, is such a brat with such a precious public-school accent that you want him to get himself lost again). He agrees and turns to leave, but the policemen point out that he will need to know what the boy looks like! Why is Robeson, who was a brilliant student as well as a singer (he graduated from law school at the top of the class) portrayed as an idiot? The songs are lacklustre and lazy--"scheming" rhymes with "dreaming," etc. and, when not singing them, Robeson, although nominally a waterfront worker, never does anything except sit on a barrel at the dock or drink in a café where Elisabeth Welch sings. It is delightful to see her at the beginning of her career, not only for her singing but her appealing, warm personality, but, again, the script is so simpleminded that she is not well used.

All the characters just have one trait each, which they tiresomely display over and over, and the humour is elementary. One rough, tough character is ridiculed over and over for having a kitten that he cares for. What's so funny about that? When the boy is reunited with his parents, none of the problems that led to his running off is touched upon, much less resolved.

But, but, but--there is Robeson, and when he sings, "Oh, my baby, my curly-headed baby," you just melt. What a crime that one of the few film documents we have of this great man and his gorgeous voice is so feeble, but it is an even worse crime that America's racism prevented Robeson from having the memorials he deserved.

Paul Robeson was an amazing man. During an age when black men were, at best, second-rate, he managed to excel in so many ways--graduating from a top college at the top of his class, a four-letter man, aster of 20 languages, professional athlete, a lawyer and one of the greatest singers of his age. Considering how much he accomplished in the repressive early to mid-20th century, you wonder just how far he might have gone had he been born a half century later.

While Robeson only made a few films, most of them are wonderful...though sadly "Big Fella" is not wonderful in any way except for the singing. Even the nice and seemingly effortless performance by Robeson and his amazing singing isn't enough to support this film--mostly because the plot sucks. It's obvious that the plot was secondary and was just an excuse to have him sing-often at the most bizarre times. But, considering how dumb the whole kidnapping plot was and how obnoxious the little jerk was, it was hard to care one bit about the film. On top of that, it was obvious that British Lion Films simply didn't care much about the production, as it was supposed to take place in Marseilles but practically everyone either has a strong American accent or British one. Aside from a few stock pieces of footage, it's pretty obvious this was made in a UK studio. A dumb plot, annoying and one-dimensional characters and low production values really sink this film. It's a shame and a film clearly beneath Robeson's immense talents.

Except for Robeson hanging on the Marseille docks and singing about the joys of...hanging on the Marseille docks, or Eliz. Welch's crooning an ode to Harlem in a Gallic nightclub, this sure is one dead film. C minus. PS...Good to see Robeson at a nightclub, sitting between two Caucasians and being served a drink by a white waiter 'stead of doing the serving or clearing the dishes, huh?