I’m surprised and disappointed in myself that the first words I had to say about Fuller House come nearly two years after its premiere on Netflix in February 2016. Fuller House, of course, is the reboot of the beloved family sitcom Full House, which aired from 1987-1995. The most succinct description I can give for these shows is that Full House was great network television in 1987 and that Fuller House was great streaming in 2016. A touch edgier though hardly racy, Fuller House both reveres and makes fun of its progenitor. It’s a tongue-in-cheek homage, if there is such a thing. It makes fun of what should be made fun of ( early ’90s TV show sap), yet includes just enough sap to make it distinctively part of the overall brand. It really is a grownup version of the original, in every sense of that term. (The little girls from 30 years ago all grew up to be hot women somehow.) It’s DJ, Stephanie, and Kimmy’s show now, and the old guys just get to play caricatures of themselves. And that’s exactly the way it should be.
Fuller House does everything right, and does it the way television should be done in these days. Drop 10 or a dozen episodes every eight months or so and don’t take any of it too seriously. Bring out New Kids on the Block for a laugh and have Lonzo Ball show up for a scene and don’t worry so much about the morality play the ’90s version often became. Fuller House is now 44 episodes in, the most recent nine added just before Christmas (strangely called the “second half” of Season Three). I strongly recommend catching up if you’re not on board yet.
Me? I’m just waiting for Season Whatever They Call the Next One.