When you think of Final Fantasy VI, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?
It’s possible that your answer is Kefka’s iconic maniacal laugh, or a final boss battle that makes you dance madly, or a quest for friends in a world of ruins. But somewhere in that mix – and for many, probably first – is the magnificent yet silly scene of the Opera House.
On the surface, it’s strange that the Opera House is, for many fans, the most cherished part of the decidedly melancholic Final Fantasy VI. The musical performance is pretty much set up so that our party gets an airship while driving home to Celes and Locke’s relationship on the side; there is no relevance of the plot to the great task of performing the opera.
Furthermore, a major point of tension revolves around the reappearance of the game’s comic villain, Ultros, whose big villainous moment culminates in him declaring himself the “royal octopus” (at least in the English localization). Despite its position just a few plot steps before the end-of-the-world events that define Final Fantasy VI’s legacy, this famous tangent is so fondly remembered that it was remastered in Square Enix’s HD-2D drive for Final Fantasy VI Pixel Remaster, a treatment exclusive to it throughout Pixel Remaster series.
achieving performance results in a blissful synchronization that provides the illusion of action and deepens personal connections to the game
There are many reasons that could be cited to explain this worship. For one thing, Final Fantasy lyrics shine brightest when they focus on intimate character moments, something Opera House delivers to greater effect than many of Final Fantasy VI’s more tonally serious scenes. In that same sense, levity is the soul of the drama, and the sequence provides enough respite for the audience to love the world and the characters before tearing everything apart with a quick punch to the stomach. It was also a virtuoso moment for Nobuo Uematsu where he developed the diversity of his compositional moves. But there is a reason more powerful than all of these why the Opera House shines: it has demonstrated the power of interactive storytelling.
Simply put, an opera scene is a scene you can play. This may not seem so impressive in the modern age where the latest Final Fantasy entries feature sets that rival those of blockbuster movies. However, it was a revelation to a 1994 audience for whom ‘scenery’ was not yet part of their gaming vocabulary. So it makes sense that Final Fantasy VI presents its interactive set as a game, helping players contextualize their role-playing duties through the lens of an actual set.
For the uninitiated or those who need a refresher, here’s the setup (spoiler alert): the group’s ruse to gain access to the airship in their pursuit of the imperialist Gestachian empire requires the knight Celes to magically play the role of Mary in the opera, setting up the airship’s owner to kidnap the wrong woman. You are tasked with performing Maria’s aria with only the opening song of Maria’s lover Draco (which serves as a kind of tutorial) and a quick look at the script that guides them. This performance involves choosing the exact lyrics for Celes to sing, moving her in rhythm with Draco to simulate dancing, picking the roses she leaves behind, and running to the upper balcony to throw the roses into the moonlight.
It’s a lot to take in, but the top-notch execution results in a blissful synchronization between scripted sequence and player control that provides the illusion of action and, in addition, deepens personal connections to the game.
If your familiarity with Final Fantasy VI comes from its Pixel Remaster, this may sound like an overblown assumption or simply incorrect. The reason for this goes back to the use of the HD-2D engine to recreate Maria’s aria. This allowed for visual improvements such as shifting camera angles and rendered lighting effects, resulting in a more cinematically recognizable presentation for today’s audiences.
However, it does so by sacrificing its interactive roots. While the player still chooses Celes’ lines, everything from dancing with Draco to running up the balcony stairs is reduced to a single press of the ‘A’ key. Contextual prompts like these give the scene a feel more akin to the infamous fast-paced events of many games from subsequent console generations. This change is likely due to the HD-2D recreation not being coded to allow the player to control the characters; The script of the opera still implies that you must perform the actions yourself, supporting the theory that this concession was necessary. Regardless, the result is a remake of a scene that doesn’t fully embrace the achievements of the original.
It’s an interesting (albeit unintentional) commentary on the useful properties of abstraction in JRPGs. Just as turn-based combat and overworlds emerged to circumvent the limitations of early console generations, playing Maria’s role in the opera required your mind to fill in the blanks. Allowing you to perform the role of selling illusions; since the player moves Celes in a way that implies dancing, they find it easier to believe that the circles they walk around Draco’s ghost as the music swells amounts to a romantic tango. It’s the same mental trick the ATB system uses to make battles feel less like two sides politely taking turns whining at each other. While the directorial tricks used by HD-2D remade scenes are smoother and more dramatic, the simplification of actions to a few button presses ultimately diminishes the illusion of active participation in the play.
Of course, this is a reflection of a fleeting moment within a larger sequence that still sings no matter which version you play. In fact, the HD-2D remake of Maria’s aria has its own upgrades such as environmental visual splendor, more emotional ghosts, and music with a vocal track. The non-interactive parts of the show are just as compelling as they add a depth to the stage and auditorium that really makes the Opera House feel grand. It seriously makes us want the entire game to be remade in this style. This goes without saying how endearing Locke’s rush to stop Ultros’ plan to ruin the show is. Switching perspectives between party groups is a trick that Final Fantasy VI has used well throughout its run, but it’s perhaps never more exciting than here.
Perhaps the best way to put it is this: 30 years after the original SNES release of Final Fantasy VI, we have a version of the game that accurately reflects modern trends and in many ways is better for it. The few that aren’t – such as Maria’s rendition of the aria – aren’t really distracting, but rather give us a chance to appreciate the ingenuity of how Square in the early 1990s worked within hardware limitations to achieve revolutionary interactive storytelling.
Do you remember a scene in the Opera fondly or is there another moment that you think deserves attention? Let us know in the comments as we prepare to celebrate Final Fantasy VI’s 30th anniversary on April 2nd!
