By: Philipe Jobard, Contributor
“We just wanted to make a show that reminded us of the things we grew up loving,” Dan Brozo shared with me early in our conversation. “And I wanted kids to feel like it’s something they could have made too.”
Dan is the director of Lava or Licorice, a puppet show that, at first glance, may appear to be a colorful series designed for elementary classrooms. However, beneath the surface, it is something much more thoughtful and, in some ways, rare.
Lava or Licorice recently won two Bronze Telly Awards: one in Kids & Family, and the other in Education & Discovery. That’s how I first came across the show, through a list of honorees in a press release. I expected to skim it, take a few notes, and move on.
But Dan’s words stuck with me. Once I watched the show, it wasn’t just the puppets or production that captured my attention. It was the feeling that something very real, and surprisingly human, was happening beneath the surface.
The show is the latest chapter in the Digital Lizards of Doom universe, a graphic novel series that somehow found its way into schools. Not through marketing or district partnerships, but organically, because teachers picked it up and noticed something different. Kids weren’t just watching. They were engaging.
“They started drawing their own characters, telling their own stories, acting things out,” said Gabriel Valentin, the creator and writer. “It activated something. And that’s when we realized we had to create more.”
That “more” became Lava or Licorice, a medium-fi, high-imagination series that resides in the space between education and something a little more open-ended.
The team is careful to distinguish between education and imagination—not to separate them, but to show how each serves a purpose. Education provides the structure—the framework, the form, the rules. But imagination, as Trevor Barber, one of the writers and producers, put it, is where the activation takes place. It’s the invitation.
The show doesn’t speak down to its audience. It doesn’t simplify. Instead, it plays—and in doing so, it offers a form of creative permission, not through imperfections, but through careful intention. The puppetry is expressive. The compositions are cinematic. Every frame is handled with care. “We wanted it to feel magical without losing clarity,” said Ryan Joseph, the show’s director of photography and editor. “If a child is watching, they should feel like they’re inside the world, not just observing it.”
This year at Emerald City Comic Con, the team even demonstrated how the same techniques could be replicated at home using a blue bed sheet, free software, and a phone—showing that great storytelling doesn’t necessarily require a studio, but vision, heart, and a couple of dedicated friends.
“The beauty of the Digital Lizards of Doom world and its lore is that kids can really take ownership of it,” Dan shared. “We’ve seen them time and time again use DLOD as a springboard to create their own interesting, meaningful work.”
The Telly Awards were an unexpected recognition. The team accepts them with gratitude, but they’re clear about something most creators wouldn’t openly admit: the awards don’t define the work. If anything, they help the show reach more people. The real validation, for them, comes in the classroom.
It comes when a child who never speaks finally raises their hand. When a student says, “Can we make our own puppets?” When a teacher emails to say, “This got through to them in a way nothing else has.”
I came into this story expecting to report on two bronze statues, but I left thinking about something far less measurable and much more important.
Lava or Licorice is not just another product. It’s a signal. A spark. It tells kids they have stories worth telling. And it reminds adults that there’s still room to make things that matter, even if they seem small on the outside.
This might just be a puppet show, but it could also be the beginning of something bigger.
