Zoo Phobia and the Importance of Cartoon Influence on Comics
Written By Alex Eklund
Recently, my wife and I became completely absorbed in Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss, the wildly expressive animated series created by Vivienne Medrano. After finishing everything currently released, I dug a little deeper into Medrano’s earlier work and discovered an unfinished webcomic called Zoo Phobia. Reading what exists of the series reminded me of something fundamental yet often overlooked: the profound influence of classic cartoons on the language of comics.
What struck me most in Zoo Phobia was its unabashed embrace of cartoon exaggeration—elastic faces, wildly expressive limbs, and the kind of physical distortion that prioritizes emotion over realism. As someone who adores the work of Chuck Jones and has always gravitated toward comics that take liberties with proportion to heighten mood, this immediately resonated with me. Medrano deploys these techniques primarily to underscore the “fish out of water” experience of the protagonist—a human struggling to adapt to a fantastical world where she’s one of the few of her kind, surrounded by eager, otherworldly inhabitants.
This is a perfect example of the old comics adage: show, don’t tell. Even in this early work, it’s clear Medrano understood that word balloons should primarily move the plot forward, while the visuals shoulder the emotional weight of the story. Characters’ expressions and gestures carry far more meaning than exposition ever could, a storytelling sensibility deeply rooted in the language of animation.
It’s bittersweet to realize that Zoo Phobia was left unfinished. The work showed a clear understanding of the possibilities of comics as a medium. Medrano played with color and word balloon design to subtly indicate speaker, tone, and mood, adding layers of texture to the reading experience. Each “page” (or digital installment) varied its paneling, keeping the rhythm lively and unpredictable. It wasn’t a perfect comic, but it demonstrated a strong handle on both the technical and emotional aspects of sequential art. One can’t help but wonder what might have emerged had Medrano continued developing in this space.
The most immediate comics comparisons to Zoo Phobia in terms of cartoon influence are Plastic Man by Kyle Baker—which shares a similar elastic, exaggerated energy but with the polish of an artist working at the height of his craft—and Underworld by Kaz, which, while not visually identical, shares a similar DNA in its embrace of cartoon logic.
Of course, cartoon-inspired imagery in comics most naturally lends itself to comedy; its whimsical and exaggerated qualities tend to invite humor rather than gravitas. But cartooning isn’t limited to lightheartedness. Peter Kuper, for example, uses cartoon distortion to create sharp, unsettling contrasts that heighten the impact of his political work. Similarly, Joe Sacco—while largely grounded in realism—occasionally employs subtle cartoon elongations or flourishes in his journalism comics, emphasizing moments of chaos, absurdity, or fleeting celebration amidst dire circumstances. These choices create moments that force the reader to pause and reconsider what they’re seeing.
For readers like me who want to see more of the ludicrous and elastic qualities that cartooning can bring to comics, Zoo Phobia is an easy recommendation—even in its unfinished state. It captures the joyous potential of exaggeration as a storytelling tool. And though Medrano has found tremendous success in animation, I can only hope she one day returns to comics, a medium where her sensibilities could continue to evolve in fascinating ways.
