A puff of dust, and there was James McLevy.
Below are some reviews garnered through the years.
“Novelty in the detective genre is hard-won yet McLevy achieved that in a stylish script. Is this the seed of a series?” (Prophetic words)
“McLevy is a sort of Presbyterian Morse with a heart, David Ashton’s script is impeccably in period and evokes Auld Reekie so vividly that you can feel the cold in your bones and the menace of the Old Town’s dark corners.
“Such is the pace and Patrick Rayner’s impeccable direction that Brian Cox’s McLevy stands a damn fine chance of superseding the TV tecs in the populace’s affections.”
“McLevy boasts a labyrinthine nourish plot, a bevy of femmes fatales, an alcoholic arsonist who takes his mum out on jobs to help him. All brought to life by David Ashton’s ear for the salty sharpness of the Scots tongue.”
“I can hardly find the words to express how fine this serial drama is and words, when you get right down to it, are the keys to its brilliance.”
“More cracking drama with the return of McLevy. Brian Cox stars as the Victorian Edinburgh detective and another great performance from Siobhan Redmond as Jean Brash, mistress of the most celebrated house of ill-repute in Edinburgh,”
I do cover other subjects from epic Indian mythology to Gypsy jazz (see films later), but McLevy is always on my trail. I forever place him in mortal danger but he forever redeems himself and then girds his loins once more.
Grafted my own religious schism onto the man, being the son of a Protestant communist father and reasonably devout Catholic mother, however he hardly broke his stride.
I lost an earlier sibling when my mammy, kept in the most profound obscurity by her own mother who spent more time at the chapel than the crucified Jesus, miscarried over a washing wringer. By the time I came along she knew better and the day she told me what had happened, we both cursed such West of Scotland blind bigoted ignorance.
Always wondered what it would be like to have a brother. Perhaps I found one, with a white ribbon for a birth cord.
His wild humour is mine, his madness is my own and his spitting anger at injustice is a feeling that we all share but rarely let see the light of day.
As I said. My hero. Some reviews of the radio episodes.