First of all, what is a dragon? Wikipedia says that it is theorized that western dragons have descended from Roman dragons. Roman dragons evolved from serpentine Greek ones, combined with the dragons of Persia, in the mix that characterized the hybrid Greek/Eastern Hellenistic culture. From Babylon, the "Dragon of Marduk" in molded glazed terracotta bricks that was part of the 6th century Gate of Ishtar has come to rest at The Detroit Institute of Arts. Dragons are found in Celtic, Norse, Catalan, Italian, Germanic, and Slavic mythology. Their pervasiveness (like flood stories) in both the East and the West tell me that their origins are very old. I am certain that Joseph Campell has a lot to say on this.

Modern films and paintings give us a newer view of dragons, colored by generations of imaginations. In the movie Dragonslayer, the dragon (a right nasty beastie named Vermithrax Pejorative, which means "the Worm from Thrace which makes things worse") flies and breathes fire. This theme repeats in Reign of Fire and a host of other movies. In Dragonheart, the dragon is wise and good, but happens to fly and can still breathe fire. St. George slew an evil dragon (often portrayed with wings, but fire is in question). Sometimes the dragons hoard gold, sometimes they snack on virgins. In contrast, the Chinese proudly proclaim themselves "Lung Tik Chuan Ren" (Descendents of the Dragon), and Chinese Dragon (or Lung) symbolizes power and excellence, valiancy and boldness, heroism and perseverance, nobility and divinity.

No such luck for Siegfried! The Wagnerian dragon has a deadly stinger on his tail and poisonous (or flaming) breath. Dispatching this beast will require strength and ambition – fortunately, Siegfried has more than enough of both.

Okay, now that we think we know what a dragon is, how can we portray it on stage? In Sing Faster, a Stagehand's Ring Cycle, the dragon of the San Francisco Opera is a mechanical behemoth with teams of stagehands animating the body and tail, and is so large that one stagehand is seated inside the head moving it's mouth and eyes. At the Sydney opera, the dragon's palm is large enough to hold the body of Mime, and in other productions (for example Pittsburgh Opera's arch rival, the Seattle Opera) the dragon has breathed real fire. So perhaps more to the point, given that the Opera Theatre of Pittsburgh is performing not in these esteemed houses, nor in the Metropolitan Opera House nor the Royal Covent Garden, nor even in Pittsburgh's lavish Benedum Center where Pittsburgh Opera plays, but is instead a smaller budget production in the exquisite Byham Theatre – how can we portray a dragon with the majesty and strength of Fafner. How can we portray a foe worthy of Siegfried's awesome strength and ambition?

By innovating!

Rather than creating a ponderous set piece, this dragon has been conceived as 5 separate pieces, handled by supernumeraries. And what sets this dragon apart is – quite literally – it's ability to come apart! It can move as a single unit, but it can fly apart and be as insubstantial as a swarm of bees, but equally deadly. A dragon is a myth and an ideal. So far as we know, no one has ever seen a real live dragon. And as such, dragons are nebulous. Why must they be corporeal? Why must they be solid? Why not have a dragon with the substance of smoke, and the power of fire?

Opera is about telling a story, and Wagner took a huge story and set it to equally huge music. But this story is being told in a small theatre – so we adapt. The production adapts, and the audience adapts, and the music and story still stand strong. After I saw the movie Hook (which I loved, with Robin Williams and Dustin Hoffman), I went back and revisited the original TV production of Peter Pan with Mary Martin and Cyril Ritchard. I was appalled! The terrifying crocodile was a man in a rubber suit, the set was spare to the point of transparency, and Tinkerbell, for whom I clapped so hard, was a lightbulb on a string. But I went back to my cached and treasured memories, and remembered that in 1961 the crocodile was real for me, the hidey oak was a secret lair, and Tinkerbell was a blithe spirit worth clapping my 4-year-old hands hard together for, until she sprang miraculously back to life. All I had to do was believe.

Does Violetta the courtesan really fall head-over-heels in love with Alfredo in La Traviata? We allow ourselves to be convinced. Do we honestly believe that Ferrando and Guglielmo can fool their betrothed Fiordiligi and Dorabella in Cosi Fan Tutte? Of course not, but for the purpose of the story and Mozart's music, we let it pass. "The Italian Job" was totally preposterous movie, but a fun movie nevetheless. And believe it or not, some people actually even liked "Oceans Eleven" (don't get me started on the latest "Star Wars").

If you fall prey to the demons of "small theatre, smaller budget" for this Ring, you'll miss something. If you look at the broken (and later mended) sword, you'll see that they are done as open-work. Many of the props are (obviously and unashamedly) canvas on wire frame. The dragon is not fire-breathing, but is 5 separate semi-abstract pieces carried by small-bodied supernumeraries. It's all done on purpose! It is all part of telling the story in a way that fits the storytellers and the stage upon which they tell it. Trust me, it's not hard, you'll see Wagner's adaptation of the Norse myth in all its glory. All you have to do is believe...