Theatre review: Cambodian Rock Band sings to help heal wounds of a grim past
Arts Club’s high-energy production revives golden age of rock music while reckoning with painful history that refuses to remain silent
Jun Kung and Kimberly-Ann Truong in Cambodian Rock Band. Photo by Moonrider Productions
Arts Club Theatre Company presents Cambodian Rock Band at the Stanley Industrial Alliance Stage to April 6
“NOTHING IN CAMBODIA stays buried for long. Sooner or later, it all rises to the surface.” Duch says this matter-of-factly while flipping through a tourist guidebook and wearing a snorkel on his head. He’s talking about the remains of those lost to the Khmer Rouge era, so many buried in shallow graves that even a bit of rain can uncover. An offhanded delivery for something so grim.
Though his character is a lot darker than the play itself, the moment kind of reflects Cambodian Rock Band’s tone—darkly funny and layered in heavy history. More than that, it speaks to the work’s deeper themes of memory and survival. A high-energy mix of concert and historical reckoning, Cambodian Rock Band tells the story of a family grappling with what was nearly wiped out.
Duch is based on Kang Kek Iew, better known as Comrade Duch, a real-life Khmer Rouge official, the radical communist movement that ruled from 1975 to 1979 and killed between 1.5 and 3 million Cambodians. In the play, Duch is a constant, unexpectedly playful presence who interacts with both the audience and the characters as the story follows Chum, a survivor of the genocide.
The play’s present day is 2008, when Chum returns to Cambodia for the first time in decades. His daughter, Neary, is gathering evidence to prosecute one of the regime’s most infamous war criminals, unaware of how deeply her father’s past is tied to it. As the play shifts between past and present, the weight of history becomes impossible to ignore—all set to the electrifying sound of Cambodian rock.
First, let’s talk about the music. The show’s soundtrack is a mix of classic Cambodian pop as well as contemporary covers and original music by Dengue Fever, an American band (fronted by Cambodian singer Chhom Nimol) known for reviving the country’s golden age of rock, a rich musical archive that was nearly lost to the world.
The Cyclos, the fictional band in the play, brings these sounds to life. The musicians in this Arts Club production (also doubling as actors) are top-notch. There’s shredding electric guitar from Jay Leonard Juatco (who also gives a heartbreaking performance as Leng), Kayla Sakura Charchuk’s retro keys (and hypnotic flute), Jun Kung’s tight, driving percussion, and Raugi Yu’s groovy bass.
At the centre of it is Kimberly-Ann Truong, who also plays Neary. Her powerhouse vocals and magnetic, defiant stage presence as the band’s singer (as well as the character’s name) draw a clear line to Ros Serey Sothea, one of Cambodia’s most iconic rock singers, who disappeared in 1977 along with countless artists, intellectuals, and ordinary people targeted for something as simple as wearing glasses.
A lot of this history bubbles under the surface, just as Duch is always lurking, inserting himself and off-handedly reminding the audience of the uneasy context behind everything happening on-stage. Nicco Lorenzo Garcia plays him with slippery ease, balancing the charm and menace of this complex character.
The offbeat humour also carries over to the other major player in all of this, Chum. We first meet him as a lighthearted, goofy dad whose discomfort at being back in his homeland is obvious, even when hidden beneath layers of jokes. “Better a stupid American than a sad Cambodian,” he tells his U.S.–born daughter, hoping she will drop her quest for justice. The father-daughter relationship is clearly the play’s emotional core, but it’s largely the scenes between Chum and Duch in the second half of the play that hit the hardest, raising questions like: Who has the privilege to forget? Who carries the burden of remembering?
The emotional shifts Chum goes through are quite big, and Raugi Yu handles it all—comedy, grief, horror, and even singing—with a performance that’s charismatic and well-balanced.
Cambodian Rock Band slithers between high-energy musical numbers, comedy, and sobering moments as languidly as Lorenzo Garcia’s emceeing. The play has distinct shifts between its two sections, and the lighting draws them into sharper focus—tightening around characters, casting stark spotlights, and shrinking the space into darkness and silence, a clear contrast to the show’s flashier musical numbers.
Jung-Hye Kim’s set design plays with concealment and revelation, using dark mesh screens that blur the past and present, keeping memories just out of reach until they push through. It reinforces the idea that the past always finds its way back into the light. These screens also help make transitions between dramatic scenes and musical sections feel dynamic.
Speaking about a past this painful (in a way that’s also lively and entertaining) is definitely ambitious. Cambodian Rock Band may fall short of uncovering the whole story, but its music and performances give the history a beating heart. It affirms that digging up the past means facing its horrors, but also reclaiming its joy. 
Related Articles
