A quicky based on a conversation Tom and I had a year ago.
Galactus is a problem. In comics he’s fantasic, a giant purple techno-demi-god that stands around vaguely menacing planets. When it comes to translating him into movie form, or even movie-caliber comic form (Ultimate: Galactus) he’s been turned into a space-dust-storm and swarm of giant metal bugs respectively.
Tom suggested I read up on his backstory, and it turns out that Galactus is the only living creature to have lived before our universe and survive the big bang.
We may have been a little hopped up on Hellboy, but we started thinking it would be great if Galactus looked alien, ancient, and gargantuan. He could be loosely human shaped, enough that legends of him could have mistaken him for a massive man.
There is darkness inside all of us, though mine is more dangerous than most. Still, we all have it—that part of our soul that is irreparably damaged by the very trials and tribulations of life. We are what we are because of it, or perhaps in spite of it. Some use
it as a shield to hide behind, others as an excuse to do unconscionable things. But, truly, the darkness is simply a piece of the whole, neither good nor evil unless you make it so. It
took a witch, a war, and a voodoo queen to teach me that.