Anyone who played FFVI suddenly wants to play it again just for that opera, while everyone else is wondering how their junior high poetry ended up floating over a drab castle. You need to know the context, which I'll try to explain even though I done don't word too good no more since the ol' accident.
Before "Final Fantasy" got slapped on everything short of Tonberry vibrators, it used to have a specific meaning. Every year or two a Final Fantasy game would come out, and every time it would deliver the same experience. You'd get a brand-new setting, cast, story, and combat system, but enough familiar elements that it was easy to jump right in. Fans could debate which the best was, even though it's obviously IX, but there was always a consistent level of quality. You knew Final Fantasy meant 20 to 40 hours of solid gameplay and story.
If that doesn't sound like a big deal, remember that they were coming out when an average game's story was a few hours of "Kill all those bad guys. OK, now kill all those bad guys." The idea of a game taking a breather for an elaborate con centered on an opera blew little kid minds. It didn't matter that it looked primitive. Your imagination filled in the blanks.
Sometimes against your will.