The drag scene has been on something of a renaissance in recent years. Bars, nightclubs, and even cinemas like The Projector have been putting on drag shows, with a host of new drag queens emerging from this febrile climate.
But long before this new wave, long before Singapore’s first drag cabaret nightclub, Boom Boom Room, opened in 1991, Chinese men were already dressing as women for a drag tradition that’s over 1,500 years old: Chinese opera.
When Chinese opera was introduced to Singapore by 19th-century immigrants, it brought along nandan (男旦), the practice of male performers playing female roles. Nandan is, to a large extent, something of a precursor to Singapore’s modern drag scene.
But while drag’s popularity is ever rising, nandan—indeed Chinese opera as a whole—is on the wane. In this article, we spotlight 2 individuals who are preserving this oft-neglected art form and take a closer look at how they’re helping to keep this historic expression of drag alive.
With the effeminate grace that Xu Qian He, 72, is able to evoke in his performances, you’d think the man had been a nandan actor for decades. As it turns out, Qian He only got involved with Chinese opera relatively recently.
“It had always been a childhood dream of mine to perform Chinese opera,” Qian He explained. “So when I retired, I seized the opportunity.”
Qian He joined the Nam Hwa Opera company 8 years ago expecting to play male roles. A shortage of male actors in the company, however, meant that he was called upon to play certain female characters. His most recent portrayal of a female character is that of an extravagantly dressed old lady who serves as comic relief.
His initial apprehension towards the role is a product of his childhood, wherein nandan used to face intense scrutiny and criticism.
Growing up, Qian He observed that Chinese opera actors were often referred to as xi zi (戏子), a derogatory term originating from the art form’s associations with eroticism and candid performances. Historically, Chinese opera was sometimes linked to sex work or contained numerous euphemisms, which shaped its controversial reputation.
He recalled how even his own parents, though fond of the performances as a form of entertainment, did not wish for their children to become opera actors. “As much as people enjoyed watching Chinese opera, they didn’t want their children to be labelled as xi zi,” Qian He explains.
“At first [with the nandan role], I was a little taken aback. But I was willing to challenge myself.”
In order to become a nandan actor, Qian He had to focus on 2 aspects of his performance: his voice and his movements.
“I tried to imitate other actors who played the same roles.” Qian He reflected. “I studied their mannerisms and the ways they would sing.”
“However, I must admit that it takes talent and gift to be able to portray female characters. The instructors would not pick someone with a particularly deep voice to play a female character.”
To Qian He, it is crucial that he treats his nandan roles as a performance first and foremost. Like drag, there is a clear separation between the character he portrays on stage and his personal identity off it. This distinction allows him to fully embrace the theatrical aspects of his roles, focusing on embodying the character’s essence rather than blurring it with his own traits.
Qian He went on to play female characters a few more times, though he also has plenty of male roles under his belt.
“I treasure every opportunity given to me to perform on stage. It matters not to me whether the characters I play are male or female.”
Qian He’s dedication to Chinese opera reflects a deep desire to preserve the tradition for future generations. But he also emphasised the importance of adaptation in ensuring the art form’s survival.
“Chinese opera must be preserved, but it should also evolve with the times. The openness for cross-gendered performances shows that the art form is neither rigid nor resistant to change.”
That evolution now rests in the hands of younger performers, like the one we’re about to introduce.
Ren Wei Chen is the Chief Qingyi actor at the Ping Sheh Beijing Opera Association and has won numerous plaudits for his performances. He also teaches nandan at the Peking Opera Society, making him practically an expert on the subject.
Wei Chen recalled his experiences in performing for his primary school’s Chinese opera troupe. Initially, he was not cast for many roles as the instructors found him too skinny and most of the outfits did not fit him. Although they attempted to cast him in “xiaosheng” roles, or young, dignified male characters, they noticed that his movements seemed too feminine.
Undeterred, Wei Chen began practising female roles on his own. “Once I was rehearsing The Drunken Concubine in coincidence with the school’s troupe,” shared Wei Chen. “A female classmate was made to play imperial concubine Yang but she wasn’t doing so well. So I told the instructor: ‘I can do better.’ And I did.”
To Wei Chen, his effeminate nature made learning the movements for nandan almost intuitive. Learning how to do the correct voices, however, was a little more complex.
“I first picked up Chinese opera at the age of 12, but was only fit for performance at 18,” Wei Chen said. “In those 6 years, I have had rigorous vocal training to identify the most comfortable methods of singing for myself.”
Wei Chen then demonstrated the vocal techniques he was well-versed in, each belonging to a different “school” of Peking opera. He portrayed the Mei school with a more melodious and refined timbre, while the Cheng school had a lighter, almost ghostly quality. Though it was a fleeting demonstration, Wei Chen’s voice rang with such clarity and depth—an intimate opera performance before our eyes.
Following this, he recalls some advice his instructor gave. “I remember my instructor emphasising that our necks should be able to move freely when we sing. That’s when you know you’re doing it right.”
As we watched Wei Chen prepare for an upcoming performance that evening, it became apparent that his instructor’s advice was felicitous. In his portrayal of the character, Wei Chen is required to tilt his head, spin, dance, and sing at different points. It all seemed incredibly demanding, yet Wei Chen appeared strikingly relaxed, his fluid neck serving as the axis for each graceful pose.
These techniques, honed through years of training, are what make Wei Chen such a lauded actor. Through his teaching, they will also serve as the template for new actors to follow. After all, the craft will have to be imparted to the next generation to ensure its long-term survival.
The challenge, however, lies in ensuring there are enough new actors to begin with.
The reality is that nandan is rapidly disappearing here in Singapore. Part of this decline can be attributed to the fact that, as women began to be accepted in Chinese opera, they naturally took on female roles. But to Qian He, this decline has less to do with female empowerment and more to do with prosaic reasons: namely the fact that there are so few men in Chinese opera these days.
“The number of women far outnumber men in today’s opera troupes,” Qian He noted. “Because of that, the situation is reversed. Now many women are playing male roles.”
But the reality is that it’s not just the men who are disappearing from Chinese opera. The art form itself is in decline, as younger generations show less interest in taking up the craft.
“Chinese opera is fading away in Singapore as the younger generation tends to regard it as a craft that only the older generation can appreciate.” lamented Wei Chen.
If Chinese opera hopes to capture the interest of younger generations, it may need to evolve, whether through rebranding, rejuvenating, or putting a fresh twist on its traditions. And that’s what makes a figure like Opera Tang so interesting—the drag queen’s use of Chinese opera aesthetics has brought the art form to a whole new generation, one that may otherwise never have been exposed to what their parents knew as wayang.
And while it’s unlikely that this aesthetic influence will go in the opposite direction, there’s one thing that Chinese opera can learn from the drag scene: accessibility. To Wei Chen, Chinese opera needs to be as visible as modern-day drag if it wants to persist. He also shares that currently, there’s an elitism amongst seasoned opera performers that further hinders the art form’s accessibility.
“Actors today are hesitant to perform in less formal, more accessible venues, leading to less public exposure for Chinese opera,” said Wei Chen. “Performing in ‘informal’ settings, such as event nights or even restaurants, can bring Chinese opera to a whole new audience.”
Most drag shows take place at nightclub venues, which aren’t highbrow, but that doesn’t dilute drag’s appeal as both an art form and entertainment. Perhaps it’s time for Chinese opera performers to do the same—to find ways new ways to be seen, to reinvent, and allow broader access to the art form.
Perhaps the art form—with all its progressive potential—needs to return to its popular roots, where it was once performed on the streets for the people, or go the way of its dying audience.
If you’re keen on checking out some Chinese opera performances, you can check Nam Hwa Opera and Ping Sheh Beijing Opera Association’s social media pages for more information!
This article is written by Enze Kay and Joan Wu.
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