Welcome, dear readers, to our regular letter column; a series of missives from and to the internet, delivered by a series of tubes. We welcome your comments and questions. About anything! We’ll answer it, and at least one of us will take you seriously. Maybe.

Ask us anything! You can ask us about comics or comic book movies, or something completely different. It’s not like “Comics” is in the name of the site or anything. Wait, what? Aw, crap dammit. Well, don’t pay any attention to that. As far as you’re concerned, this might as well be “Off-Topic! The Blog” or even “James and That Other Guy! The Blog” or just “Whatevs! The Blog.” I mean, you could really call us anything you want, as long as it’s suitably flattering.

That’s a good idea, actually: from now on, preface any and all questions with a complementary salutation, such as “Dear God-Kings of Opinion.” That’s pretty good, I think! Or, if the number of characters becomes an issue on Twitter, just shorten it to “DGKO.” We’ll know what you mean.

You’re welcome, internet.

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Danica LeBlanc (@DanicaHere) asks: Will girlfriends ever be invited to Van Der Thanksgiving?

Brandon: Absolutely. There’s just one thing you have to remember: Do not look at James after he “puts on” whip cream “bikini”. He will do this the moment Ali Larter leaves the room to don hers, muttering something about how he’s better than her at everything at what he thinks is an inaudible decibel. He will put on clothes once she does, but not before re-discovering the fact that he can, in fact, be his own pretty, pretty princess (right after the Beek tells Larter that she doesn’t have to lure popular boys with whip cream bikinis to escape their home town), and that process needs to be done in… relative privacy, I guess.

James: Brandon, that’s a lie and you know it. I don’t ever think I’m saying it at an inaudible volume.

Really, I can foresee a day when girlfriends are welcome to Van Der Thanksgiving. But girlfriendS. And let’s be honest, I don’t see anyone jumping to take a chance on this special someone with a lot of plastic Batmen and even more opinions. Someday!

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Danica continues: Will watching Varsity Blues make me angry?

Brandon: Oh, absolutely. It’s not really a great movie to begin with, and this round, it really hit me just how bad… well, all of the plotting is, but pretty much any part of the movie dealing with a female character is… problematic at the best of times. I was particularly cranky when Amy Smart forgives James Van Der Beek because he needs someone to tell him to be a hero, which makes no sense. But it’s there.

James: Yes. I think the movie makes a better case (albeit a non-traditionally-structured one) for some of the plot developments than Brandon does, but I also like Richard Linklater movies, and that dude is all about just letting shit happen, so I maybe come at it from a different angle. There’s definitely some objectionable material, such as a gay slur, though. And a date rape joke. It’s… well… not great.

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Danica concludes: James, when are you coming over to watch Must Love Dogs with B and I? Apparently, we own it.

Brandon: Fun fact - I’ve told my parent, ten years in a row, that if she’s looking for movies for me for Christmas, she should aim for John Cusack movies - because it’s generally a safer bet than what she’ll usually get me. So far, she’s come through with Must Love Dogs. One in ten years. Of course, I should be grateful that I get anything for Christmas, but last year I got the Blu-Ray of Grown Ups from her soooooo yeah.

James: Here’s the thing - this would still break my rule of never actually planning to watch the movie at all. I have watched Must Love Dogs a lot. Dare I say, I’ve watched it more than almost anyone and everyone else. That said, I’ve never actually sat down intending to watch it. This is what happens: it’s a weekend afternoon or evening and I don’t have any plans, and I turn on the TV to see if there’s anything good on. Maybe there is, but that becomes irrelevant when I see that W is playing the Diane Lane/John Cusack moderne classique about two middle-aged sad people who lie in their online dating profiles. It can be just starting or it can only have 5 minutes left, but almost without fail, I will sit down and watch the rest of it all the way through. That remains the only way I’ve actually watched it, and probably ever will, so unless you want to scout out TV listings and suggest that you two come over to hang out on a Sunday afternoon before idly suggesting we see what’s on TV, the chances of watching Must Love Dogs with me is pretty slim-to-nil.

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Scott Williams (@scottowilliams) asks: How would you label the different “ages” of comic books (Gold/Silver/Etc.) How many are there and when did each begin?

Brandon: Boy, do you have time for a series of never ending articles? Because that’s what this will probably turn into.

Golden age and silver age are particularly easy to label, as the size of comics change with each of those eras. Golden Age comics are shorter and not as wide as your typical “magazine” style, whereas Silver Age comics are juuuuuuuust a bit wider (and a tich taller, in some instances) than your current comic. The Silver Age is considered to start with DC’s Showcase Presents #4, which introduced the “modern” Flash, Barry Allen. (Marvel’s Silver Age begins with Fantastic Four #1).

From there, things get a bit contentious as to what era is what, when they start, and what they are called. Many use “the bronze age” and “the modern age” to describe the eras that followed, but like all things, I think a person can really choose what to call whatever era they wish, beyond the point that there is no physical distinction marking different eras. I personally have my own “superhero” era, and the period of time wherein I discovered the fact that comics were not a genre and started delving into an “indie” era, before settling on a mix of both in which I call the “rad” era.

James: I’ll make things a lot simpler than Brandon [Ed. Note: well, excluding the actual length of my answer], because while you can define the ages as whatever you wish, there’s still a general consensus that comics are generally divided into four eras: Golden, Silver, Bronze and Modern.

The Golden Age can be broadly considered to be everything before Barry Allen’s appearance, but determining a specific date for its beginning leads to a pretty easy date: April 18, 1938 and the publication of Action Comics #1, aka the first appearance of Superman. Generally considered to be the first superhero, Superman’s creation initiated an explosion and proliferation of the genre and the comic book medium overall.

As Brandon said, the Silver Age has been almost universally agreed to have begun with the publication of DC Showcase #4, the first new appearance of Barry Allen, the second Flash and the first new widely popular superhero since the Golden Age. Specifically, Allen represented the post-war jet age, a different aesthetic and attitude than most heroes previously.

Things get a little trickier with the Bronze Age, because there’s not really a convenient debut of a character that makes it an easy distinction. Scholar Benito Cereno has suggested that the Bronze Age began (or, more specifically, that the Silver Age ended) when Jack Kirby debuted on Superman’s Pal Jimmy Olsen, and I think that can be generally shortened to “Jack Kirby goes to DC Comics.” Of course, there are some other events and factors that contributed to the end of the Silver Age and beginning of the Bronze, which can basically be described as “the Seventies,” and 1970 specifically:

-Denny O’Neil and Neal Adams’ transitioning of the Green Lantern series to being Green Lantern/Green Arrow in the April issue, which began their groundbreaking focus on social issues;

-Mort Weisinger, editor of the Superman family of books, being replaced with Julie Schwartz, who consciously toned down the light, optimistic silliness of the books that had been Weisinger’s trademark. Additionally, Schwartz lowered Superman’s power level and got rid of most of the types of Kryptonite;

The O’Neil/Adams Green Lantern/Green Arrow series was pretty on-the-nose in its change in focus, but the same thing can be seen slightly more subtly in Schwartz’s new Superman line, and it’s an idea that I think defines the Bronze Age: an emphasis on more “down to earth” stories with social relevance. With the optimism of the Kennedy 60s basically gone, the Bronze Age shortened the gap between superhero comics and the culture they were actively trying to represent. That’s one reason why I think the moving of Jack Kirby to DC from Marvel is a useful signifier for the Bronze Age’s beginning: as the co-creator of Marvel’s cast and its overall socially relevant ethos, his move to DC was a big sign that they, and thus superhero comics overall, were moving in that direction, too.

The Modern Age was, in many ways, a continuation of this idea, with a focus on “realism” or “grittiness,” which is why it’s often referred to as the Dark Age of Comics too, which I think is just hilarious because that describes to a T my general dismissal of grim-and-gritty themes in most superhero comics. Part of the Modern Age can be attributed to the influx of writers from Britain - Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, Grant Morrison, etc - a la Kirby moving to DC that helped kick off the Bronze Age, but I think a more useful point of reference is more akin to Weisinger being replaced with Schwartz, and the changes to Superman: Crisis on Infinite Earths, the 1985-86 limited series that consciously, deliberately put an end to the “excesses” and “silliness” of the Silver Age. It eliminated the DC multiverse and thus entire worlds of characters, and replaced it with new versions of familiar characters that were more limited and defined by their troubles and dark tone. It was a literal restarting point for DC Comics, and it included the most symbolic jettisoning of the Silver Age possible: it killed Barry Allen. In hindsight, it’s hard to read the killing of the character who ushered in the Silver Age as anything but a conscious commentary on a new direction. ”He’s gone. It’s gone.”

And what it was replaced with, of course, going back to the alternate name as the Dark Age, was something darker and more grim in tone. It’s hard to really make Superman pessimistic (or at least, I thought so until the New 52), and John Byrne’s Man of Steel featured a lot of the brightness that is intrinsic to the non-garbage iterations of Superman, but it also introduced some new varieties doubt and darkness to Superman, like the scene where he makes his public debut and immediately flees back to Smallville, brooding in the dark about how “everybody wanted a piece of [him.]” It’s also impossible to overstate the importance of Frank Miller on the definition of the Modern Age. Daredevil: Born Again‘s dark themes and topics helped define Matt Murdock largely until Mark Waid’s current run or, at least, Ed Brubaker and Brian Michael Bendis’ preceding runs were extraordinarily influenced by it. But it’s his iteration of Batman, in Year One and The Dark Knight Returns, that defined the character in comics for two full decades. Miller’s image of Batman as a dark, brooding and paranoid fighter was so indelible and influential that for decades it was clearly the version that most other creators were trying to emulate. And it’s this kind of contraction - in power, in tone, in acceptable versions of characters - that to me defines the Modern/Dark Age.

Past that, it gets tricky. There have certainly been suggestions that we’re in a new age of comic books, but it’s harder to nail down. Partly, this is because, as you may have noticed, the previous Ages are defined largely by the big two publishers - or even DC specifically - and there are simply more publishers now, from Image to Dark Horse to BOOM. There’s also the influence of the changes in the venue of the comic marketplace (expansion and contraction of the direct market), the increased importance of different formats like the trade paperback and the influence of digital technology. The problem is, all of these things overlap in time. DC has almost re-entered the Dark Ages in tone as of 2011. Image and the indie explosion began in 1992. Trade paperbacks and digital media have been steadily increasing. It’s hard to say, matter-of-factly, that we’re still in the “Modern” Age, especially after DC basically undid the events of Crisis on Infinite Earths starting in 2005 with Infinite Crisis while re-instituting a lot of the Dark Age’s tone.

It’s just plain hard and, like Brandon said, this is where individual, personal definitions become more important. Frankly, I think the naming convention of the Ages is broken because it sort of implies that the first was the best, and I personally think that in terms of craft, variety and availability, we’re in a true new Golden Age right now. But hey, that’s just me.

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Scott continues: Would you say other media/genres have “ages” that we can clearly delineate?

Brandon: Probably? Put a few folks who are studying, have studied or have obtained film degrees into a room long enough, and they’ll start arbitrarily separating genre and era, and arguing with each other as to the distinctions that need to be made and why - forgetting that one most important thing about art: enjoyment. Do I seem weary? I need a nap, you guys.

James: Probably, but I think it’s a little harder because as electronic media, film and to a lesser degree TV ages are sometimes defined by technical milestones more than subject matter. It’s easy to define film ages as, say, Silent, Talkies and Colour, maybe throwing in “digital” or “3D” for whatever we’re in now. Similarly, you can look at TV as black-and-white vs. colour. Beyond that, looking at issues of genre, it’s more difficult because the mediums were more broadly seen or utilized as mass media than comics, which for a long time were defined most as kids’ or teens’ material, in a market dominated by two companies specifically (including the primordial mishmash of the Golden Age that would basically become DC and Marvel). The Ages of comic books are easily defined by two companies, if not DC specifically, but that’s not really possible for movies and TV where, even in the studio and network eras, there were still more options, being seen by more people, in more genres. It’s easier to look at specific movements in film especially, like German Expressionism, French New Age and New Hollywood; you wouldn’t define any as a specific, monolithic Age because in many cases these movements jockeyed and overlapped, but they’re still identifiable as general things.

It’s difficult in a different way with TV. It shares the technical “ages” idea with film, but it was also defined by, at least in America, the low number of players or networks because of the high cost of entry. That said, I think it’s easier to look at it by subject matter than film, even if you can’t really go with the firm dates of Comic Book Ages and even if television always had more widespread genres than comics, which for decades have been defined by just one. I suggest there are basically four essential Content Ages of Television: Proto-Network, Big Three Networks, Fox and Cable.

The Proto-Network Age is pretty easily definable as the situation before the Big Three networks were established: an evolutionary ooze of expanding recording technology and broadcast infrastructure, and the establishment of a system of affiliate stations under one network. The beginning of the Age - and, in fact, the medium - was defined by the transition of radio-to-TV. CBS and NBC were the two original large radio networks from the 20s, with ABC coming in 1943 out of the government’s decision that NBC’s operation - running two radio networks, “Red” and “Blue” - was anticompetitive. As a result, NBC sold off the “Blue” network and it became ABC.

This established the Big Three Networks, but what separates the Proto-Network (or “Golden”) Age from the Big Three Networks Age is the presence of the DuMont Network. DuMont, unlike the Big Three, was not a radio broadcaster - it was a television manufacturer, and began at the approximate midpoint of the Golden/Proto Age, 1946. Because of the exorbitant costs of establishing a broadcasting infrastructure, it was never really able to establish a foothold, and even in its heyday, it was still a distant fourth in the ratings to the networks that would become the Big Three. However, DuMont is notable, if not for its content, than for its technology: its parent company, DuMont Laboratories, made significant improvements to the cathode ray tubes that would define decades of television, basically up until the wide popularization of projection, plasma and LCD.

The death of DuMont on August 6th, 1956 ended the Proto/Golden Age of Television, because it established the status quo that would go on for thirty years. And listen, you basically probably know all about that. Technology more or less stabilized, with later additions of colour television (actually introduced in 1953 and first broadcast in 1954 with the Tournament of Roses parade, but which wouldn’t really catch on until 1965, when the networks started broadcasting over 50% of their primetime material in colour) and home media making additions, but for thirty years, the situation was pretty simple. You had three channels (well, non-public broadcasting channels) and you liked it, thank-you-very-much. There were movements in content (like the boom and bust of TV westerns) and progression in standards (Star Trek‘s first interracial kiss, basically everything Norman Lear ever made, bless his soul), but things basically stayed at an even level. Well, until October 9, 1986 and the beginning of the next Age of television with the addition of a new network.

Just like the end of DuMont ushered in a new era, the inception of FOX started a new one. The FOX Age was notable in part because the simple act of the network (cobbled together from the old NTA Network holdings, Metromedia’s stations and 20th Century Fox’s existing production studio) existing changed the status quo. It was a conscious, explicit effort to expand the market in the first substantial way in decades. But more importantly was the effect on content. Simply put, FOX changed the standards and practices not just of what was acceptable television, but what was popular television. Married… With Children changed what it meant to be a “TV family.” By introducing dysfunction and (reintroducing/popularizing) the working class to the sitcom, FOX basically made a lot of game-changing television possible. It’s possible to take a line from Married… With Children to Roseanne and beyond. Hell, throw in Seinfeld‘s naked innovation in there too if you want to be ambitious. 21 Jump Street picked up a lot of mature, dark topics that would change the procedural forever (a year later, China Beach would premiere on ABC and do something similar. The X-Files would bring a new facet to sci-fi or “genre” television. The network almost single-handedly created the teen primetime soap opera. But FOX’s biggest effect on broadcast television might have been with The Simpsons, which basically made every single adult-oriented, non-family-friendly or openly intellectual animated series since possible. It changed the entire format and medium of animation. It cannot be overstated how much The Simpsons changed television, and how much FOX was initially vilified for it. A lot of people saw FOX’s evolution of the medium as crass, juvenile and insipid. The Simpsons got shit-talked by a sitting president, for goodness’ sake. How’s that for revolutionary?

You can also throw in some genuinely brilliant business moves by FOX, like how for its first few years it wasn’t technically a TV network at all, just a large group of stations, which let it bypass the US Financial Interest and Syndication Rules while it established itself, to why it succeeded where DuMont failed. In essence, they simply didn’t legally have to produce as much content. Pretty sneaky, Rupert.

The final and current Content Age of Television is the Cable Age. Basically, Fox kickstarted an expansion of television. While there are still only four US broadcast television networks (not counting Univision, if only because of how it blends original Spanish-language productions like telenovelas with broadcasts of dubbed English-language network broadcasts), there has been an explosion of content - both in amount and allowable content - in cable television. Originally, the distinction was largely technological; broadcast networks used antennae to pick up radio waves, where cable transmitted its signals by, well, cables. This also had an effect on business operations; broadcast networks are free over-the-air transmissions, whereas cable supplements its lower advertising revenue (rate and reach) with franchise rental fees. There’s also satellite, but let’s ignore that for now. This effect on business operations not only allows cable networks to exist on a smaller budget, allowing for their individual proliferation, but it has an effect on how it relates to broadcast standards and practices. Essentially, because you have to pay for cable and can’t just accidentally stumble across it, you can get away with a bit more mature or adult content on cable, which leads to the biggest effect and reason I’m describing it as an Age and not just A Thing I Think Is Cool: an explosion in the art form of television, allowing for different formats of series utilizing a wider variety of topics. Stories that you legally couldn’t tell on broadcast networks found a home on cable.

The biggest, or at least, the first significant original, lauded content provider was HBO, which lets us pinpoint a general beginning date for the Cable Age. HBO wasn’t always recognized as a producer of innovative television - for much of its history starting in 1975, it broadcast already produced movies, produced some made-for-TV movies and even Fraggle Rock. But it was still a pretty low-profile cable and satellite provider of stuff you’d already seen or probably didn’t want to, until the 1990s, when it started producing a lot more original content. More importantly, it started producing a lot of content that got national attention for its mature subject matter and intelligent, complex storytelling. And with no disrespect to The Larry Sanders Show or Mr. Show and maybe some disrespect to Arli$$, which were well-received, but they were cult TV shows that have become more widely known and successful in the years since they ended. The real Cable Age, to me, begins when these original HBO and cable shows start getting widely popular, and that leads me to 1997′s Oz and, in a much bigger way, 1999′s The Sopranos. The Sopranos in particular marks the biggest transition in what cable television was, because whereas Oz was successful and lauded, it was The Sopranos that became a cultural touchstone, launching massive careers and, importantly, being recognized with awards nominations and wins.

The Sopranos was a gunshot, a big, loud sign that things were changing, and it became a surging point for the idea that premium cable wasn’t just a place for cussing, violence and nudity, but for high art that couldn’t exist anywhere else. It made shows like Mad Men and Breaking Bad possible. Matthew Weiner, the auteur creator of Mad Men, wrote for The Sopranos first and pitched the series there before AMC eventually made it. The themes of modern manhood and fatherhood Gilligan would write into Breaking Bad were, by his own admission, in part inspired by The Sopranos. It’s the Velvet Underground of cable TV.

Nailing down the specific start date for the Cable Age is difficult, because it was a gradual process, and even if you nail it down to The Sopranos, you have a choice to make. Do you count its premiere date of January 10, 1999? I’m more inclined to go with something a bit later that year, but concrete: September 12, 1999, the 51st Primetime Emmy Awards. Not only did the show lead North American TV with 11 nominations, but it did something no HBO series had ever done before: it won an Emmy. Edie Falco won the Primetime Emmy for Outstanding Lead Actress in a Drama Series, for her revolutionary role as Carmela Soprano. If you want to pinpoint the gunshot, the moment the Cable Age began as broadcast networks realized there was a target on their backs? That’s it. That’s when the new era of TV really began, and it’s only kept going.

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Ryan (@rocketmunkey) asks: What are your thoughts on the Batman vs. Superman movie? Specifically - casting decisions and proposed story.

Brandon: To make a long, complicated thing incredibly short: I think that it’s about god damn time DC and Warner’s started thinking about Wonder Woman on the big screen. The fact that Gal Gadot is a specific choice, and not a figment of someone’s imagination means someone is angry about the casting. Bonus asshole points go to the champs who’s initial responses were “she should eat a sandwich”, because the first thing we should really be doing in this situation is question a person’s body image, right? It’s what we did with Ben Affleck, right? Oh wait, we didn’t? Good job, internet. Way to be a bag of dicks.

Personally, I haven’t seen her in… anything, so I have no real comment beyond: she is not who I would have pictured in the role (which isn’t saying much, because I had “no one” pegged before this moment), but I am open to her interpretation of the character.

James: I haven’t seen it, so I’m basically holding all judgment until I at least see a trailer. I think it good that Wonder Woman is finally going to be on film. It took fuckin’ long enough, Warner Brothers.

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Scott Williams interjects: What Wonder Woman thing?

Brandon: It’s okay Scott, the longer you stay out of the quagmire, the better. Lucky me, I’m right in the so-called trenches, counting the terribly sexist comments I’ve heard since the announcement. So far I’m at 6, and it hasn’t been 24 hours yet.

James: Sigh. Listen, this is gonna be a thing. Check back here soon.

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Scott concludes: How long will it take for this sprained ankle to heal? It happened early Saturday and it’s Tuesday now.

Brandon: It will never heal, Scott. It’s dead and now it’s a ghost ankle, who will haunt you, and/or teach your children’s ankles about the importance of being a good father.

James: The only way to move on with the next (ghost ankle) phase of your life is amputation, Scott. Hold still.

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That’s it for the one hundred and ninteenth instalment of Um, Actually. Check in every Monday and Thursday for a new batch of questions. If you have anything you’d like answered, hit up our contact page! If you submit anything via Twitter – to @blogaboutcomics, @Leask or @soupytoasterson – remember to include the hashtag #UMACTUALLY so that we don’t lose it. Remember: you can ask us anything. Seriously, anything.