The millennia-old art form is now taking its last stand with less than 10 troupes in the whole of Malaysia
When I was younger, I’ve only ever seen one Chinese opera performance—and that was in Guangzhou, China. I don’t recall much, seeing as I was four or five at the time, but I do remember the performer’s lilting, almost nasally voice as she sang in tandem with the orchestra’s rhythmic tune. The loud hum of the erhu accompanied her singing, and the urgent clashing of cymbals conveyed an atmosphere of high tension.
She sang in Cantonese, but it was more a mix of the regional linguistic styles in southern China than the dialect we are more familiar with in Malaysia. And what this meant was that I hadn’t been able to understand a word of it.
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Above Chong Keat Aun (Photo: John Chion of Timez Art)

Above A Chinese opera performer getting ready for a performance
Today, while the language used in Chinese opera has adapted to modern times, it is more formal and uses proverbs to relay either classical Chinese fables or stories that illustrate human values and morals. Because of this, many find it difficult to understand the repertoires. Coupled with the passage of time and the proliferation of different forms of entertainment, a steady decline of this ancient art form seems inevitable.
Award-winning filmmaker Chong Keat Aun's Snow in Midsummer movie depicts the rise and fall of a Cantonese opera troupe in Kuala Lumpur during the ’80s. His tired expression speaks volumes about the state of Malaysian Chinese opera.
“The sad reality is that in my 17 years of documenting traditional arts of the local Chinese community, we may be looking at Chinese opera's extinction in the next decade,” he states solemnly. “And it’s not just because we don’t have the financial support or the lack of awareness. It's more how [Malaysian Chinese opera] cannot keep up with the times, especially since people these days prefer instantaneous entertainment.”
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Above Chong Keat Aun (left) and a Javanese tari topeng performer at the Melaka Art and Performance Festival 2016

Above Ling Goh
According to Chong, the pandemic only sped up its decline. As demands for performances grew less, many of the troupe members have turned to different careers.
The heyday of Malaysian Chinese opera was from the 1950s to 1980s. Chong says that back then, there were approximately 180 active troupes in Malaysia, but in 2018, only 18 to 20 active troupes were left. Today, there are less than 10 troupes in the whole of Malaysia, and even then, most troupes see less than three members; some are even a one-man troupe!
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Ling Goh, founder of the country's first-and-only Teochew Opera House and director of two remaining Teochew opera troupes in Malaysia, shares a different perspective. Providing workshops, classes and demonstrations of their performances to schools, the opera performer is intent on expanding the art form from the ground up with her platform.
“Of course it’s difficult,” she says candidly. “[Troupes] here don’t get paid salaries like they do in countries like Singapore or China. But it’s what I need to do—there are days when I wonder about what I’m doing, but at the end of the day, I love Chinese opera. I look at the people who come to our performances, young and old, most of them don’t even know what it is, and I think what I’m doing is worth it. I keep going because it’s not over yet. I haven’t achieved what I wanted to achieve. So until then, I’ll keep performing.”
Goh also wanted to introduce the art of Chinese puppetry to the masses, but with an innovative twist. Although with her recent work, Ibu, is a wooden puppet show based on the local story of Si Tanggang that utilises methods both old and new, Goh hesitates to call it Chinese puppetry.
“I’m still trying to find a balance between what’s old and what’s new,” she admits. “Filming Ibu had made people aware of this art form but because it’s so localised and made modern with its many techniques, it’s not Chinese puppetry. When it comes to the actual art form, because of the language barrier and the misconception about Chinese opera, people think that it’s just a street performance or that it's only meant for religious festivities. But at the heart of it all, we perform for people to watch.”
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Above While the style isn't practised in Malaysia, Kunqu, one of the oldest styles of Chinese opera that is said to be the starting point of the art form, is seen modernised in terms of the language and melody sang in the video.
Goh urges: “We need to start them young. People forget because they don’t talk about it anymore. It’s not just Chinese opera, but the cultural values behind the performances—the morals taught and the lessons they impart.”
Chong echoes this sentiment. “We need more than just the community. One person alone can only do so much. One troupe can only do so much. We need financial support from both the private and public sectors. And we need to begin raising awareness in schools to have the younger generation at least be aware of the rich cultures we have in Malaysia.”
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To help you better appreciate the complex nuances of Chinese opera, scroll the galleries below for some interesting facts.

















