For nearly a decade, Peps Goh has been fighting a battle most people in Singapore never knew existed. A battle to build a sustainable stunt ecosystem in a country where the arts are fragile, budgets are thin, and the industry simply does not support itself.
Sandbox Training Ground, Singapore’s first proper stunt school, will soon be shutting down. And behind that announcement is a story of ambition, exhaustion, and a man who refused to accept that “nobody is doing anything about it.”
The Beginnings: From Void Decks to a Vision
Before Sandbox ever had a roof, the 31-year-old fight design and coordinator and his stunt team trained anywhere they could: void decks, open spaces, borrowed studios. From 2016 onwards, they had no home but plenty of fire.
“I wasn’t confident about supporting a space at the start,” he admitted. “We just trained where we could. But everyone was unhappy with the state of action in Singapore, and nobody was doing anything about it. So… I decided to do it.”
In 2018, he rented a Muay Thai gym for Sandbox’s first workshop. By 2020, he began scouting for a permanent base.
And then in 2021, Sandbox Training Ground was born, Singapore’s first dedicated stunt school.
“We want to do good action. That is the main thing,” Goh said. “To do good action, you need to train good actors. You need a place to rehearse. And you need a home to raise a stunt team.”
He never believed he was the right person to lead the revolution. “I always thought I was just holding the fort until someone better came along,” he said. But no one did.
So he built it himself, funded by personal savings and even his BTO money, a total of S$250,000 just to get the doors open.
The High Point: A Big and Strong Team
The biggest turning point came in 2023, when Goh returned from an elite Hollywood stunt training camp called Totem II by Walter Garcia of Enso, a programme held only once every three years, with 24 participants selected from over 700 global auditions. He was the only Asian representative, and although the programme was free, he paid for two months of travel and living expenses out of his own pocket.
“It opened my eyes,” he said. “It showed me what a good system can be, and should be.”
Instead of staying there to explore opportunities, he came home intent on levelling up the entire team.
This was the moment when Sandbox had a big and strong team of 12 core performers, 25 auxiliary performers, all improving at an astonishing pace. It felt like the beginning of something real.
“That was the peak,” he recalled. “Everyone was very strong. The skill level was rising. I really thought we were building something. I brought everything I learned back to the team, I was very encouraged and I thought we could make things better.”
Sandbox has trained actors like former Hong Kong TVB actor Alan Wan, Singaporean actresses Apple Chan and Tay Ying, and Singaporean actors like Aaron Mossadeg.
But the industry they were building it for… wasn’t ready. The problem was never talent, it was the ecosystem around it.
The Harsh Reality: An Industry That Doesn’t Support Itself
Singapore’s local film and action ecosystem has long suffered from a painful cycle:
- Low production budgets
- Lowball rates for actors
- Minimal investment in stunt work
- A tiny domestic audience for films
- Actors and stunt performers unable to afford upskilling due to low pay
“When I first entered the stunt industry in 2010, we were paid S$120 to S$150 a day to jump off buildings or get hit by cars, ” Goh said with a wry laugh. “There aren’t many projects. Two, three jobs a month. Everyone has to part-time to survive.”
This causes good performers to eventually leave because of the low pay and rookies would come into the picture. Then because the work isn’t good due to the inexperience of the rookies, producers don’t invest. Because producers don’t invest, the work doesn’t get better. It was a vicious cycle no one was breaking.
“Either we try to make a difference in the country, go elsewhere, or quit,” he said. “I chose to try.”
But trying came at a massive personal cost.
When the Numbers No Longer Make Sense
Sandbox’s finances never stabilised. Rent alone was S$10,000 a month, adding up to S$17,000 including overheads. Sandbox ran its own classes, team-building programmes, and took on event gigs just to cover rent and keep the lights on, instead of focusing on the real dream of action development and R&D.
After the first year, every plan began to unravel. Over the last three years, Sandbox has been consistently in the red. Regular booking partners shut down. Landlord drama nearly forced a relocation. The team shrank. And Goh repeatedly gave up his own salary and savings to bail out the company.
Everything Sandbox ever earned went straight back into survival. The total sunk cost: S$1.2 million.
In the past few months, the collapse became undeniable. Their new programmes, certifications, choreography sessions and pop-up classes all made losses. “Barely any participants,” as Goh wrote on Instagram.
“With the current pay rates, Singaporean performers can no longer afford to pay to attend upgrading programmes.
“For two months, it was just the coaches and one or two core members,” he shared. “Performers can no longer afford to train and they have to go out to work to make ends meet.”
On top of that, the three large-scale projects meant to tide Sandbox through this quarter all fell through. The work went to Malaysia, Thailand and Indonesia, simply because their exchange rates make Singaporean talent too costly.
“It speaks for itself,” Goh added.
The Breaking Point
Today, the once-vibrant Sandbox stunt team is down to just three people, one of them Goh himself.
“The group is getting smaller. My formula is not working anymore,” he admitted. “If I want to keep talent, I have to pay them. But I can’t. And I have no more money to bail out the company.”
The emotional toll is harder to quantify, but heavier than the dollars.
“I spent four years preaching for stunt production to be done right, and they never learn. Four years grooming people, and they leave. I’m very tired. I want to put this heavy weight down.”
And yet he still feels responsible for the few who stayed, refusing to quit without a fight.
“Some amazing performers have stuck with us all the way. They are damn good. I owe it to them to try to save the business.”
But without support – government, institutional, or private – the business cannot continue.
What Could Have Been: The Firestarter Dream
In his announcement, Goh laid out what Sandbox could have become with proper investment:
- A full-time core of 15–20 paid stunt performers, focused purely on training, teaching and elevating standards
- A fully-subsidised annual pipeline of 50–100 actors, trained in action the way Korea’s Seoul Action School does
- Three low-budget action feature films produced without censorship or product placement obligations, purely for craft and storytelling
To do it right over eight years: S$15 million.
To simply last until the end of their lease and avoid bankruptcy: S$100,000.
“These are problems money could solve,” Goh said. “Not a small amount for individuals, but tiny in the grand scheme of policy-making.”
But in the absence of a miracle, or a Singaporean Bruce Wayne, the reality stands: “Within the limits of the local industry, our existence is completely unsustainable.”
Regret, Resentment, and the Reality of Letting Go
Does he regret starting Sandbox?
“Yes and no,” he said quietly. “It was important to try. We all think we have a lot to lose, but actually we don’t. We only have one life and we lose it all in the end anyway. We can take nothing with us when we go and I didn’t want to be on my deathbed wondering ‘What if I tried?’”
However, he doesn’t hide the lingering bitterness.
“I do feel some sense of resentment. Maybe I should not have tried to help Singapore. Maybe it’s beyond saving.”
Many told him to expand overseas. He stayed because he wanted to build something here, to remember where he came from, and “lay the land for the next generation.”
He could have stayed in Hollywood. He came home out of hope. But hope alone couldn’t fund a space, pay a team, or sustain an ecosystem.
What Happens Now?
Sandbox has dried up its funds. “It’s been a good fight,” Goh wrote. “But this is the end of the line.”
They have two weeks to finalise the decision, starting with the motion to declare bankruptcy. On 23 November, Sandbox will hold its AGM. If no investor steps up by then – and none have committed yet – Goh will formally announce the closure and begin the legal process. He is painfully aware of what may follow.
“If I have to pay rent for six months after closing because of our notice period, does that mean I’m in debt? Do I need to declare bankrupt?” he said, “I don’t know.”
What he does know is this: “I did my best. I gave it my all. Nobody else stepped up.”
A Dream Bigger Than One Person
Singapore likes to talk about creativity, innovation, and pushing boundaries. But dreams, especially artistic ones, need structure, investment, and belief.
Sandbox Training Ground was a monument built out of grit and stubborn hope.
Not a glamorous business venture. Not an immediate-return startup. But a cultural effort to raise the standard of action, filmmaking, and storytelling in Singapore.
Goh fought to build something for a country that wasn’t ready to support it. It doesn’t make the effort any less meaningful. And it doesn’t make the loss any less heavy.
