When I finished the second episode of Fuller House, I knew that it wasn’t just gonna be a bad show—I was in for the bad show. A kick in the stomach, a needle to the eye, a waterfall of burning flames of which there is no escape.
Where do I even begin?
So, Netflix of all companies decided to reboot that mid-90’s relic that your parents hazily recall as being so bad it’s good and produced a 13-episode season that tries to spice up the formula by gender-flipping the cast. On paper this sounds like a cheap nostalgic cash-in for Netflix, but the episodes, which began streaming on Feb. 26, reveal that it’s far and away worse than that.
So the first episode starts off as goofy and moronic as I expected. Many of the older cast came in for their obligatory cameos and got out as fast as possible. The new, younger stars try to familiarize themselves with the audience and the tone is set. Looking back on it, the first episode is exactly what I expected of Fuller House and isn’t really that terrible. But then, episode two.
This is where Fuller House drops the cologne that waffled of a cash grab and starts smelling of rancid writing. The jokes are cookie-cutter, delivered through gritted teeth and given pauses as if the cast struck true comedy gold.
The cast either can’t act their way out of a blanket or are ear-gratingly hateable. Special mention goes out to a little nightmare kin known as Max Fuller. This tyke can’t even give off the slightest hint of a enjoyable experience, even while surrounded by a litter of golden retriever puppies. Though to Max’s credit, his actor is 6-7 years old and probably being told to be as obnoxious as possible. His peers however, have no excuse for the wooden deliveries and bored acting (well, other than the writer being lazy).
On the note of lazy writing: the amount of forced pop culture references and “accidental” innuendo in this series is ear-bleedingly insufferable. Scenes can and often will be strung by blunt sexual suggestion and references that Them Kidz will get.
Which begs the question, who is Fuller House for? It must be for the fans of the original, right? Well, from the reruns I’ve seen on Nick at Nite, the original Full House was much more tame, better executed, had fewer references to the times, and was more… subtle. Even if you argue the “memory lane” angle, the second episode will have viewers running for the hills because of its departures from tone and formula. So it must be a remake for the newer generation, then? Well, the innuendo is so wall-bangingly unfunny that even the most immature 13-year-olds will roll their eyes in boredom and the most of the references are just stale enough to fly over their heads.
Which brings me back to my first question—why does this exist?
When I viewed episodes 2-5 of Fuller House, I saw red. I thought that this was the worst sitcom I had seen in my life and was fully ready to lay down the nuclear heat on this garbage heap, but over time my rage went from a nuclear sandstorm to a bitter simmer of gripes as the show when on. There’s no doubt in my mind that episodes 2-5 contain some of the worst writing I’ve seen in years, but as the show goes on it becomes more and more mediocre (and bearable).
I’m getting off track.
To close out my post-viewing thoughts and feelings on Fuller House, I shall paraphrase what I said when the Current staff asked about my thoughts: Watching Fuller House makes me feel like Asuka during the End of Evangelion. Specifically the part where the mass-produced Evangelions rip out and devour her intestines, then impale her with the lances of Longinus.
(Images are official publicity material from Netflix.)
TV Talk is a regular television column written by Robert Pulford, Current Staff.