It was through Chapman University’s London Theatre Tour study abroad course that I learned what theatre can be at its finest: like precious metal, mined from the talent of each soul involved. I saw more than one diamond in those all too short weeks-gleaming performances that left me breathless, giddy with the knowledge I had just witnessed true innovation.

It all began for me in the place where Shakespeare breathed new life into the soul of theatre. After a night of unsuccessful jet-lagged sleep, my classmates and I trod delicately on the ice-slicked streets toward the Courtyard Theatre in Stratford-Upon-Avon. Inside, the stage was simply set. The circular floor was covered in sand and a few throw pillows leaned against a shiny steel backdrop with tiny stars and moons cut into it. The set was near-bare for a reason-the actors served as the sets. When Ali Baba followed the 40 thieves to the cave of treasures, the spectacular gates that swung open were not made of ornate gold or silver but of the entire cast with their bodies linked together.

The production was also inventive for its puppetry. A little gold human puppet operated by two men was beautifully lifelike. At one point, the puppet climbed atop a giant bird, composed of at least 10 people: one held its enormous skull, others held fans for the wings and tail, and rakes for the body. The innovation of the human sets and the creative puppets was accompanied by the stellar performance of the cast, who contributed every ounce of talent they possessed.

The second performance we attended was Peter Pan at the O2 Arena’s unique Threesixty Theatre. The theater is inside a tent, the ceiling of which serves as a screen for a 360 degree projection system. When Peter, Wendy and the boys take flight, the city of London is projected onto the ceiling of the tent. Although the actors are stationary, the moving picture around them creates the illusion they are flying above the city. Although the performance itself was not necessarily brilliant, the ground-breaking technology used in the production was enough to get us all standing on our feet by the end of the show. The Threesixty did for theatre what James Cameron did for film-both created new technologies that will forever change entertainment.

I saw many other productions in London but none affected me more than John Logan’s new play, Red, at the Donmar Warehouse. My classmates and I were up in the stalls of the small theatre which consisted of very thin, wooden benches in front of a rail. No more than five minutes into the play every one was leaning over the rail, drawn into the performance in a way none of us had ever been before. The writing was quick, sharp and deeply insightful. Alfred Molina, in the role of Rothko, delivered every word as though it was poised on the edge of a cliff, holding its breath until each artfully timed release.

The young Eddie Redmayne, as Rothko’s assistant Ken, held his own opposite Molina. Under the barrage of Rothko’s sharp words, he stubbornly bounced back equally measured optimism. The tension between them made it seem as though the theater was a vacuum and if anyone were to open a door we would all be violently sucked out into the real world.

Release from this tension came in the creation of Rothko’s paintings. A system of pulleys allowed a canvas to hang at the back of the stage. In one scene, Rothko decides it is time to paint and requests that Ken help him prime the canvas. Rothko turns on a record and gives Ken a nod. The two begin working furiously on the canvas, their brushes doused in red. Rothko starts at the top, Ken works from the bottom up.

Molina and Redmayne work so vigorously the paint splatters all over themselves and the stage. They continue with increasing desperation until they finally finish. They collapse on the floor, pleasurably exhausted, their faces seemingly spattered with blood. Everyone in the audience gasps collectively, as though they have all vicariously experienced the same catharsis. The creation of art on that stage, not just in acting but in the act of painting, was just as progressive (if not more) as any other production I saw in England.

London gave birth to my passion for theatre. Before the trip, I thought I understood theatre. But the productions I saw overseas might as well have given me a new set of eyes and ears, and I am not going to let them waste away from ill use. Los Angeles may try to deter me with its lack of effective public transit but I’m willing to brave the 405 to find those productions and playhouses that remind me how innovative and touching theatre can be.