The design of Roger Rabbit always felt like a love letter to the golden age of cartoons to me. His bouncy proportions — oversized head, elastic limbs, huge expressive eyes — scream rubber‑hose and Tex Avery-style exaggeration, the kind that lets a character stretch, squash, and do absolutely ridiculous physical comedy without breaking the spell. The film itself borrows from a whole toolbox of 1930s–40s animation tricks: the white gloves, the bow tie, the slapstick timing, and that manic, childlike energy that made early theatrical cartoons so lovable.
Charles Fleischer's voice performance in the movie gave animators permission to push his expressions and timing even further, so the visuals and vocal performance fed each other.
Jessica's silhouette is a different kind of homage — she reads like classic Hollywood glam amplified into cartoon form. Think film noir sirens and 1940s pin-up art: Veronica Lake’s hair, Rita Hayworth’s sultry screen presence, and the exaggerated hourglass shapes of pin-up illustrators all echo in her design. Her sultry speaking voice (Kathleen Turner) and the sung parts (Amy Irving) shaped animators' choices about facial angles, posture, and motion, so she moves like a performer on a stage — seductive, controlled, and slightly larger-than-life. Together, Roger and Jessica are two sides of the same era: one is pure cartoon chaos and the other is cinematic glamour, and that contrast is still delightful to me.