Okay. Here's the story behind the story.
A couple of days ago I finally got around to watching the film version of the musical version of The Producers, which was originally a movie by Mel Brooks about two men out to produce the worst musical ever written, raise way more money than they could possibly need to do the show, then scram with the cash to Rio de Janeiro.
They get the rights to a play called Springtime for Hitler, written by a not-so-former Nazi, and hire the worst director, actors, and choreographer they can lay hands on, and plan on the show being a flop.
The critics love it, the audience loves it, and it's the biggest hit of the year.
I'll tell you this much right off. Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick are not Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder, but the movie is definitely worth seeing.
Anyway, when the Springtime for Hitler number rolled round, guess who played the lead tenor stormtrooper? That's right, none other than John Barrowman – Captain Jack himself.
Well, that got me thinking, and I asked the question, what if it actually were Captain Jack? And what if his team found out? After all, it's not possible that all hundred and seventy-something years of his life were soaked in angst. He has to have some good memories somewhere.
This is the answer. That's the only thing about this that's mine. Torchwood belongs to the BBC, and The Producers belongs to Mel Brooks.
As always, reviews are welcome, and I will respond to as many as I can. Thanks in advance for reading.
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Finding Springtime
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Gwen Cooper looked askance at the CD she'd gotten for her birthday three months ago. Her grandmother, ordinarily a reasonably sane and sensible woman, had gotten her a copy of the cast recording of an old Broadway play called, of all things, Springtime For Hitler.
Her first thought had been that her grandmother was playing a practical joke on her, so she went online and Googled it. As it turned out, it had been a real show. It had been on Broadway in the late fifties, and had run for nearly ten years, even with the producers behind bars for fraud. The only reason the cast album had been re-released was that there was a revival set to open in a few weeks.
Her grandmother had been asking her what she'd thought of it, and Gwen had kept hedging, claiming work and being too busy, but the rift was quiet, there was nothing going on, and all she had left to do was fill out forms and write reports. Who would have thought that saving the world would bring so much paperwork?
She opened the jewel case and put the CD in the drive in her player. She looked again at the garish cover, and started the disc.
The overture came up, bright and brassy as anything that had come out in the fifties, and she quickly tuned out the opening number. It wasn't until the fourth song that she put her pen down and listened.
The second lead, a surprisingly good tenor, was singing a duet with the girl who played Eva's assistant, and, as there was in a lot of the stage music of that time, spoken dialogue.
"Jack?" she said, looking around, but her boss was nowhere to be seen. She shrugged, and went back to her paperwork.
The woman's voice replied, and the song continued, with the man singing.
The thought that she knew that man's voice – would swear to it in any court in the land – soon grew too overpowering. She had to see if it actually was who she thought it was. "That can't be..." she muttered, and got the booklet out. "The play came out the year my mum was born…"
She finally found the cast list on the third page - Roger DeBris, Ulla Inga Hansen Bensen Yollen Tallen-Hallen Svaden-Svanson Bloom, Jack Harkness...
What the hell?
She flipped through the booklet and found the photos of the cast. Ulla of the Many Names was a beautiful blonde, DeBris was the seediest Hitler she'd ever seen, and Jack Harkness...
…was the same man she worked with every day, helping to save the world.
"Didn't know you went in for show tunes, sweetheart." Owen Harper crept up behind her and looked over her shoulder. "Springtime for Hitler," he read, "a Gay Romp with Adolf and Eva at Berchtesgaden." He snorted. "Neo-Nazi ones in particular."
"It was from my Gran," she said. "And look." She pointed to the picture of a disturbingly blond Jack Harkness in the booklet.
Owen's expression didn't change one whit, but Gwen could see the wheels starting to turn. "Are you sure it's him?" he asked.
"Well, it certainly sounds like him," she said. She went back to the beginning of the duet, and let it start replaying. "See?"
"See what?" Toshiko Sato wandered in with a cup of coffee in her hands and Ianto Jones at her heels. Gwen was reasonably sure Tosh had been there all night, judging by the slight lack of focus in her stare.
"Gwen," Owen said, "seems to think that our Captain Harkness was a Broadway star back in the fifties."
Tosh frowned, as if she were trying to solve a particularly difficult piece of programming. "I wonder how I missed that," she said vaguely.
Ianto listened silently until the song ended. "One more thing he wanted to hide from us," he said softly.
"I wonder why," Tosh said as she put her coffee down and started leafing through miniature libretto. "He's actually quite good."
The metallic whine of the lift activating, along with Myfanwy's indignant screech at having her air space invaded, signaled their fearless leader's return. "Kids, I'm home!" Jack Harkness called as his feet touched the ground.
Owen smirked. "Jack's back," he said.
"Yes," Ianto said, a slow smile forming on his own face.
"Now, boys," Gwen said, "it's my CD, let me handle this."
"Hey!" Jack called as he bounded up to the office level, "You guys here?"
"We're in my office, Jack," Gwen called. She took the booklet out of Tosh's hand and put the cup of coffee back in her hand.
"What, all of you?" Jack said. "What's going…" He all but bounced into the room, and stopped dead in his tracks two steps in. He looked at Owen and Ianto standing there smirking, and Gwen holding a CD case and grinning like a Time Lord with an explosive new toy.
She held up the booklet so that he could plainly see the title. "I don't suppose you'd care to tell us about this, would you, Jack?"
"…oh, crap…"
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So, what do you think? Should I continue?
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