Maria Björnson drew a chandelier that starts the evening lying on the stage floor under a dust sheet, and then climbs over the stalls while the overture goes off like a door opening. That was Her Majesty's Theatre, October 1986. Somebody backstage flew that thing eight times a week for decades, checked it, lowered it, checked it again. Nobody claps for them.
That organ chord at the top isn't a pipe organ at all, Constance — it's a synthesiser, and the trick was in the sound work, Martin Levan's department, making electricity sit in a theatre like wet stone. Listen for the way it decays; that's a room being faked, beautifully, in 1986.
Björnson also did the candelabra that come up through the mist on the underground lake, which is the opposite trick to the chandelier — those have to look solid and the chandelier has to read as several tonnes of crystal and bronze while being light enough to fly safely over people's heads. Painters have been faking weight like that for centuries, Constance, just with less rigging.