For the love of Chinese opera
One of the flag bearers in promoting performing arts in the country, the Petaling Street Heritage House seeks to revive the dying art of Chinese opera, writes
FINDING a spot nearest to the stage, my cousin and I placed our mini rattan stools on the floor of a temple near our grandmother’s house in Penang. We were just children — she was 10 and I was 6. Trudging our way to the temple with the stools and snacks in hand to watch a Chinese opera was one of the thrills that we looked forward to during our visits to Penang.
We watched wide-eyed as the performers in their colourful and intricate costumes took centre stage. All dolled-up with heavy make-up, these Chinese opera performers never failed to give me the impression that they would not hesitate to strike badly behaved children. So, with my back straight, I stared straight ahead and took in whatever unfolded in front of me on the makeshift stage, filled with intricate wood carvings, colourful banners and small band of musicians partly hidden in the background.
I tried hard but I could never understand the lyrics of the songs the performers sang in their high pitched voices. But I still found them fascinating, nonetheless, as the arias soared and ebbed.
Traditional musical instruments such as gaohu, erhu, yehu, pipa and dizi give Chinese opera that distinctive sound.
With every strike on the erhu, the little me noticed the performers changing their facial expressions. Sometimes happy, sometimes sad. A light clang of the cymbal brings me to the makeshift stage on the top floor of Petaling Street Heritage House on Jalan Tun HS Lee in Kuala Lumpur.
A huge banner in front of the stage announces the name of the play that we’re about to watch. A table is filled with prayers paraphernalia and a wooden stand is filled with weapons like swords.
Nothing much has changed since the old days except the stage is slightly smaller than those at temple grounds. I take my seat near a staircase that creaks every time someone walks on it.
When the music begins to pick up, two performers in elaborate costumes walk in. Both are female performers. While one plays the fa dan or principal female character, the other takes on the role of mou sang or principal male character.
In Chinese opera, both male and female performers can alternate between male and female roles.
Famous for his fa dan roles, the late artiste Mei Lanfang usually played young or middle-aged women. Considered one of the four great dan — the other were Shang Xiaoyun, Cheng Yanqiu and Xun Huisheng — Mei Lanfang died in 1961 at 66.
As the performers take centre stage in their white and red costumes, adorned with auspicious creatures like the dragon and phoenix. Their sui siu — white silk extensions attached to the sleeves of the gar-