Like any self-respecting theater kid, Phoenix Wright has a lot of Shakespeare opinions.
There are the plays that he hates (Henry VI Part 2, ugh), the characters he would love to play (Orlando, at the moment), the characters he hates (Claudio, obviously), and the plays that he is ready and willing to debate interpretations on with anyone (Romeo and Juliet is absolutely a valid romance and the fact that it’s a tragedy first and foremost does not negate that).
His opinions and favorites have shifted over time (he hasn’t touched Romeo and Juliet since college, though he’ll still debate its merits). And a part of that is that there’s a lot of plays, and he’s realized that sometimes things don’t hit you unless you’re in the right place.
Act 1. Scene 1. On a ship at sea: a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning heard.
The Tempest is one of those plays that’s never really stood out to Phoenix. It’s good, sure, but not one that really sticks with him. Afterall, when put up against the likes of Macbeth and Hamlet and Othello, who wants to read the story of revenge where no one dies?
He doesn’t really think about it until after. On April 20th, sitting in the office, the lights coming through the partially shut blinds, staring at the bookshelf. He has a moment, where he thinks that maybe, maybe, he can almost understand von Karma. It’s one of the darkest moments he’s had in a while. It should probably be an indicator of worse things to come.
SCENE II. The island. Before PROSPERO’S cell.
Phoenix has always needed people. He knows this. Things have gotten rough before. He can look back and acknowledge that. But it’s not until he has the floor ripped out from under him that he realizes how much worse things could have been.
In one fell swoop he’s lost his job and his reputation, managed to smear his mentor’s reputation in the process, and lived up to every bad thing anyone’s ever said about him. How is he supposed to face anyone after this? Why would they want to help him? And wouldn’t associating with him just cause more trouble for them?
It is very easy to start thinking that he’d rather be left in the darkness than try and be pulled out.
Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA
Trucy is not his responsibility. Literally everyone agrees with him, even the foster care lady he talks to.
He is in probably one of the worst positions to take in a kid. He’s twenty-six. He’s just been fired and barred from working in his field. He wasn’t financially stable to begin with. And Trucy isn’t coming in baggage-light either.
But she’s just been abandoned by the one person she should have been able to trust unconditionally. And in the face of everyone around her accepting this abandonment for what it is, she continues to insist that it’s fine. He’s coming back. She knows it. And Phoenix has been on that end of a betrayal. He thinks of Mia, sitting with him in the office, listening to him talk about Dollie, helping him work through all of it.
If he can help Trucy with the same, shouldn’t he?
MIRANDA Alack, what trouble Was I then to you!
He knows what people will tell him if he asks. That this is the last thing he needs right now. He shouldn’t be taking on this responsibility. That he’s already dealing with a lot, and taking on a child is just going to add to his burden.
He knows, so he doesn’t ask.
Because they’re wrong.
PROSPERO O, a cherubin Thou wast that did preserve me.
The thought of pulling himself out of this mess for his own sake is debilitating. What is even the point in trying to earn back what was stolen from him? The system has chewed him up and spat him out, and pardon him for not being gung-ho to jump right back in. He feels perfectly justified in wallowing for a while.
But for Trucy.
For Trucy, he can pull himself out of bed. He can look for a job and put up with whatever that entails. He can sit up late at night figuring out the budget so Trucy can go on the field trip next month. The energy that he’s been lacking doesn’t magically come back, but it doesn’t feel quite so difficult to push through anyways. Because now he has a reason.
Revenge, Phoenix finds, is not a sustainable fuel for him. It comes in waves and tends to pull out the worst in him. While it never goes away, he’s certain that if he’d relied on it for motivation, all it would have led to would’ve been a spectacular crash.
But Trucy is a never ending source of motivation. Even when things get hard and he struggles to push forward, the thought of his daughter is enough to keep him sane, to keep him present. When he gets knocked down, when all his effort amounts to nothing, and he wants to throw his hands up because what’s even the point of trying, all it takes is seeing Trucy’s smile.
PROSPERO Thou didst smile, Infusèd with a fortitude from heaven, When I have decked the sea with drops full salt, Under my burden groaned, which raised in me An undergoing stomach to bear up Against what should ensue.
But Trucy… happy, smiling Trucy… she was my light.
Phoenix didn’t use to understand the appeal of The Tempest. But sitting next to his daughter on an old beach towel in the park, watching Prospero and his daughter Miranda, and feeling the tears start to run down his face as Trucy leans into his side to hug him, he thinks he gets it.
Okay. Seared brown butter venison. On a bed of homemade labneh. With basil, rosemary, preserved ginger and cocoa nib crumble. And a blackberry and red wine vinegar sauce
