Designing Projections for Beauty and the Beast

There’s something about Beauty and the Beast that stays with you, that stays with me. Before it was a stage musical, before it was a Broadway spectacle, it was a film I experienced in fragments, cobbled together from friends’ VHS tapes and childhood sleepovers. I didn’t just love the story; I felt it. And I suspect, if you’re here reading this, you probably did too.

If you’re a teacher or director about to stage this musical, you already know how magical it is. But what you might not know and what I’ve come to learn through years of research, design, and obsession, is just how layered it is. Beneath the surface of the fairy tale is a story about difference, identity, empathy, and transformation. It’s a show that has meant different things to different people across generations, and when you really dig into its design potential, it becomes something astonishing.

In this blog, I want to walk you through how I approached the projection design for Beauty and the Beast, not as just a series of backgrounds, but as a visual love letter to the emotional engine of the story. I’ll explore how the themes influenced every creative decision, what challenges the show presents to schools and community theatres, and why projection isn’t just a solution, it’s a perfect fit.

Whether or not you use my designs, I hope this gives you fresh insight into the world you’re about to create and maybe, a few surprises along the way.

The Film That Built My Imagination

Like a lot of kids in the late ’80s and early ’90s, I was completely swept up in the Disney Renaissance. But while my friends were quoting lines from The Lion King or belting A Whole New World in the playground, I was obsessed with Beauty and the Beast. And not just the songs, the whole world. The flickering candlelight, the sweeping staircases, the feeling that magic could be hiding behind any curtain.

Unfortunately, I was also one of those unfortunate children whose parents refused to buy actual Disney VHS tapes. “We’ll tape it off the TV,” they said. I tried explaining that Disney films don’t come on TV. Ever! But logic was no match for my mum’s belief that anything priced above $20 was a scam. So instead, I absorbed Beauty and the Beast in fragments, at friends’ houses, on scratched McDonald’s Happy Meal promotional cassettes, wherever I could.

And still, even with such limited access, it became the film for me. I didn’t know why at the time, not really. Maybe it was the castle. Or the music. Or the fact that the story seemed to whisper something more than what was on the surface. Something about feeling like an outsider. About being misunderstood. About hoping someone might one day look past your exterior and really see you.

Later, when I learned about Howard Ashman, how he helped craft this story while he was quietly battling AIDS, how he embedded themes of difference and shame and transformation into the lyrics, it all clicked. Suddenly, the story wasn’t just romantic. It was brave. Personal. Defiant. And heartbreakingly beautiful.

That understanding didn’t just deepen my love of the film, it shaped how I see theatre. It taught me that design isn’t just about making things “look nice.” It’s about echoing emotion, reinforcing meaning, and helping an audience feel something, even if they don’t quite know why.

All these years later, that’s the standard I hold myself to. And it’s why, when I started StageScape Projections, Beauty and the Beast was the obvious choice. Not just because it’s popular, but because I knew I had something personal to say through it. Something that nine-year-old me, rewinding borrowed VHS tapes and building castles out of Lego, would’ve been proud of.

Seeing Beyond the Surface

Beauty and the Beast is more than just a charming fairy tale, it’s layered with themes that resonate on many levels, some more obvious than others. At its core, it’s a story about transformation, acceptance, and the courage it takes to be truly seen for who you are.

One of the most powerful undercurrents is the subtle queer subtext woven through the film. The Beast’s isolation, Belle’s yearning to break free, and the idea that love can transcend appearances all speak to experiences of difference, otherness, and hope for acceptance, themes that quietly resonate with many LGBTQ+ people, even if they remain unspoken. Generations who grew up with the film, particularly Gen X and older millennials are now looking back and unpacking how its themes shaped their childhoods. Online, there's been a lot of conversation recently around the queer-coded subtext of the film, and how, viewed through an adult lens, so much of the emotional messaging begins to click into place.

The film also teaches us about empathy, challenging us to look beyond surface judgments and recognise the humanity within. As children, many of us learned that Gaston, the handsome and socially accepted hero, was actually the villain, turning our expectations upside down and inviting us to question who really deserves to be called a hero. This especially resonates with any child who felt like they didn’t quite fit into society’s definition of “normal.” I know from personal experience that, in the late '80s, individuality wasn’t exactly celebrated. Adults, teachers, parents, the media - expected children to follow gender and social norms, and weren’t shy about enforcing them. To see a film break that narrative and celebrate the outsider was, in hindsight, revolutionary.

Belle is proud of being different. She doesn’t apologise for it. For kids like me who felt disconnected from the standard mould, that was awe-inspiring. In many ways, Beauty and the Beast planted seeds, not just about identity, but about compassion, questioning the status quo, and the idea that transformation is possible.

Growth is another central theme, both personal and communal. This is beautifully reflected in the castle’s design, shifting from cold, gothic isolation to warm, flowing Baroque openness, mirroring the Beast’s journey and his blossoming relationship with Belle. And even as children, we got it. We understood the challenge set before the Beast, and we were rooting for him to succeed. Belle’s own arc, especially in the stage version with the song “A Change in Me,” reinforces the idea that growth doesn’t mean sacrificing who you are, it means becoming more fully yourself.

These themes aren’t just subtle background elements; they’re the emotional engine driving the story. Understanding them helped shape my projection design, making sure every visual choice supports the deeper narrative, inviting audiences to feel, reflect, and connect.

 

Designing With Purpose

Much of the design process for Beauty and the Beast was about translating the story’s deeper themes into visual form, not just matching what the audience expects to see, but enhancing what they feel.

The theme of transformation is most clearly reflected in the castle itself. Early on, I leaned heavily into Gothic architecture, pointed arches, ironwork, shadows. It needed to feel cold, towering, and emotionally shut off, just like the Beast. But I also wanted the remnants of its former grandeur to be felt. Little hints, grand arches, worn carvings, oversized spaces, all nod to what the castle once was. At one time, it held banquets, balls, and hosted hundreds of people. That echo of lost opulence sits quietly in the background, reminding us of all that was taken.

As the relationship between Belle and the Beast begins to shift, so too does the castle. The visual language softens, Rococo details creep in, Baroque curves emerge, light begins to warm. It’s not a conscious shift for the audience, but it’s there. You feel it. That’s my aim at least.

Colour and light were essential in shaping the emotional arc. Belle’s village scenes are steeped in warm tones; ochres, terracottas, golden light. It’s cosy, yes, but also a little stifling. I took inspiration from the original film here, where nearly every townsperson is rendered in warm hues. This clever palette choice allows Belle’s blue dress to pop, visually reinforcing her difference, her quiet rebellion against the life expected of her.

The castle flips that. It’s all moody blues, greys, and purples at first, which ironically allows Belle to blend in for the first time. It’s subtle, but it mirrors her journey beautifully. Of course, it’s not a strict rule, lighting is allowed to break where needed, but early castle scenes are deliberately cool. As the story progresses, that palette gently warms, culminating in the Ballroom, the brightest and warmest scene in the entire castle.

When Belle changes into the yellow ballgown, that moment speaks volumes. It’s not just a costume change. It represents growth, maturity, and emotional courage. It’s her moment of transformation, visually and narratively and the Ballroom follows suit.

I also played with scale and perspective, particularly during transitions. The zoom reveal on the hillside during “Belle (Reprise)” isn’t just a slick bit of animation; it’s about longing, ambition, the ache for more. These visual shifts support the storytelling. (Also, it’s just fun to blow people’s minds with a sweeping camera move in a school hall.) It works because it’s unexpected. The audience is suddenly pulled into the space at the exact moment Belle is emotionally breaking free. When paired with thoughtful staging, it becomes a showstopping moment that sticks in people’s heads long after the curtain falls.

I had a similar bit of fun with the balcony reveal in “If I Can’t Love Her.” It’s the Act One finale, and I wanted to close it with a moment of real visual power, and I just love that song. As the music swells, the projection slowly slides aside to reveal the moonlit balcony. A glittering, starlit sky broken by castle turrets creates a breathtaking image. Then, at the final key change, the clouds part and moonlight floods the scene. But just as the Beast loses hope, the clouds close in again, the light dims, and snow begins to fall, subtle but symbolic. It’s a small use of weather and environment to reflect internal struggle, and hopefully, elevate the moment.

Even the smallest choices, like repeating stained glass motifs across multiple scenes or connecting castle interiors with shared corridors, were deliberate. These visual through-lines help stitch the world together, making it feel real, lived-in, and emotionally consistent. I’d be lying if I said some of these spaces hadn’t been in my head since I first saw the film as a child. I mean, who didn’t dream of running through an enchanted castle with talking furniture and secret passageways?

Why Projection Just Makes Sense for Beauty and the Beast

Let’s be honest, Beauty and the Beast is a massive show. It doesn’t just require a “set”; it demands a whole world. You’ve got village exteriors, taverns, cottages, a sprawling, enchanted castle with multiple rooms, spooky forests, magical transformations, and more scene changes than you can count on two hands. For most schools and community theatres, pulling that off with physical sets alone is… well, ambitious. 

That’s where projection shines. It’s not just a backup plan or a budget workaround, it’s a theatrical tool that fits this show particularly well.

One of the biggest challenges when staging Beauty and the Beast is the number of locations and the speed at which the story moves through them. You need to take the audience from a village square to a dark forest, to a castle, to a tavern, to a snowy balcony, all within a few bars of music. Trying to do that with rolling flats and scene changes often means long blackouts or awkward transitions that break the flow. With projection, those transitions can be seamless, immersive, and emotionally charged. And the script doesn't help, it wasn't writen with any scene change leeway. Set changes are expected to occur almost instantly (like the change from the Masters Sitting Room back to Belle's Cottage). The professional versions achieve these effects with hydraulics and a team of over 50 crew, it's well unfair to expect a school production to do the same.

It also allows for moments of real magic. Take the “Be Our Guest” number, for instance. This isn’t just a dinner scene, it’s an explosion of joy and colour and theatricality. Projection lets you lean into the absurdity, the enchantment, and the scale of it all, in a way that’s hard to do with static sets. And it can happen without breaking the bank or asking your tech students to wire up pyrotechnics. (please never do that - always get a professional qualified pyrotechnician in for that).

Projection can also solve problems that physical scenery struggles with, especially in venues with limited backstage space or technical capacity. You don’t need a scene shop full of carpenters to build a Gothic castle; you can create one with light and image, layered carefully to bring out mood, depth, and atmosphere.

And the best part? Projection isn’t just a time-saver, it can elevate your production. When used with purpose and care, it becomes part of the storytelling. It doesn’t replace the performance; it supports it. It helps guide the audience’s attention, deepen emotional beats, and transport them, without ever getting in the way.

If there’s any show that deserves to be visualised with as much heart, detail, and theatricality as possible, it’s this one. And projection lets you do just that in a way that’s practical, magical, and endlessly flexible.

Bringing the Magic Full Circle

I didn’t choose Beauty and the Beast just because it’s popular (although let’s be honest - it is). I chose it because it’s personal. Because the story, the visuals, and the emotional undercurrents have been living in my head since I was nine years old, curled up on a friend’s couch, wishing I had my own copy of the film.

Designing these projections felt like coming full circle, like finally getting to step into the enchanted world I always dreamed of, but this time with the tools to shape it myself. Every flicker of candlelight, every snow-dusted windowpane, every golden sunbeam slanting across a ballroom floor is a little piece of my heart, filtered through years of design experience and childhood wonder.

I know a lot of you reading this are teachers, directors, creatives, people who are about to pour their own heart into a production of Beauty and the Beast. Maybe you’re already knee-deep in planning, or maybe you're just starting to feel the flutter of excitement. Either way, I hope this blog gave you something - a spark of inspiration, a new lens through which to view the story, or even just a deeper appreciation for what makes this show so rich.

Projection isn’t about cutting corners. It’s about opening doors. Giving your cast and crew the freedom to focus on performance, while still delivering visual moments that make an audience sit forward in their seats.

So whether you use my projection package or find your own path, my advice is this: lean into the heart of the story. Honour its themes. Use the magic when it serves the moment. And never underestimate how deeply these fairytales can still speak to us, especially when they’re treated with care.