We need to talk about Full House
(Part 1.)
I never watched Full House.
That’s huge to some people, I have learned along the way. It has come up in conversations when a party gets to that point where everyone just starts recommending their favorite TV shows to each other.
I’ve missed a lot of that particular order of sitcom. I can’t remember their exact names. Ten Things About Your Mother, Something about a Pizza Place, The one with Urkle.
But Full House; people would get a special, knowing, glazed-over look in their eyes when it would come up.
Full House has recently become my eight-year old’s favorite show thanks to the recommendation of one of his mates and Hulu. Except for Handmaids Tale, Hulu needs to get their shit together. And I thought, I’ll watch this ironically, and maybe see what all the fuss was about. I’m down with guilty pleasure pop culture. I remember Three’s Company.
I can hang.
We started it all over from the beginning because my son, like Steven Tyler, don’t want to miss a thing. Right away it’s clearly of another time. The opening theme song with the character’s interacting out in nature, the set with front door camera left, the kitchen door on the right — always swinging on a hinge. Who has a door to their kitchen? — The cringe-worthy parade of “hot chicks” who have almost no lines. It borders on self-parody, yet it is entirely in earnest.
It doesn’t even attempt to hide its formula, — a vacant, vanilla vacuum of simplicity. I began to take note, something else is going on here. Something not right.
Audiences love cute little girls who say grown-up sounding stuff. Let’s have one! Let’s have three!
Bumbling father figures dealing with diapers and all of that? Let’s have one of those. Let’s have three of those!
Why have cake when you can just eat frosting?
So that’s where John Stamos came from. Huh. I could have sworn he was on a soap opera my mother used to watch. Maybe I am thinking of Rick Springfield. A quick IMDB search proves they were BOTH on my mother’s favorite soap opera. One had Jesse’s Girl, one had Uncle Jesse.
This show, in retrospect, is a breeding ground for the egregious.
That weird little baby grows up into the Olsen Twins! Two of the weirdest people in American popular culture. The studio tried to hide the fact that there were twins playing the baby for some reason and credited her … them; as Mary-Kate Ashley Olsen.
Why does everyone keep singing?
Disagreements end in tickle fights. Or more singing. Uncle Jesse is a rock and roller who puts his life of music and long hair on hold and instantly becomes a total natural nurturing little girls. And why is he all about Elvis and later, the Beach Boys? He has a Sammy Davis Jr. poster in his room. I’m sorry, what now? He would be heavy into Bon Jovi and Metallica, his room strewn with beer cans and a bong or two.
The whole family went to a Beach Boys concert and ended up on stage, singing with the Beach Boys. No one seemed to think this was odd. My son thinks it’s awesome. I know there were remote controls in 1990, so something is up.
And there’s Uncle Joey. The blond-ish one. It took me two seasons to understand why he annoys me so much; it’s because he reminds me of myself in the early nineties; thinks he’s funny, dresses like an asshole, gets leftover ladies off his better-looking friends. Someone told me he’s the guy Alanis Morissette is referencing in her infamous angry-girl anthem. That guy? He just did a Rocky and Bullwinkle impression. If you’d asked me to guess, I’d say maybe he roofied her?
This is getting harsher than I meant it to be.
We’re into season three now, the baby is talking. She actually talks less than you think, they dub a person talking like a baby over her a lot. I like to think it’s Sagat. The kids are growing up literally before our eyes. Somewhere a cute-meter must have dipped below a certain acceptable level because … puppies!
There’s a dog now.
The dog gives birth to puppies on John Stamos’ bed. Soundlessly. They cut away, they cut back and there’s another puppy. This happens a few times. The little Mary-Kate and Ashley mutant-baby says something cute here and the audience “aww”s.
A minute later, John Stamos, the mother dog and the puppies (band name?) are hanging out on the bed, no muss, no fuss, and no messy clean-up. Again, guess no Guns and Roses concert for Uncle Jesse.
Scott Baio just showed up. He didn’t just show up, they opened the door and the audience squealed. I guess they didn’t know yet. About Scott Baio, I mean.
They gave Uncle Jesse a girlfriend, someone from the parade of girls; she ends up being the co-host of Bob Sagat’s morning show, also.
I have to save Bob Sagat for another post. I need more time.
This girl — this woman who is now a series regular, she’s kind of cute, I think to myself. I wonder if she ever went on to do anything else… I look her up on IMDb, on my phone. Lori Loughlin. I’ve heard that name before… there she is… get the fuck out of here. She’s one of the college admission scandal ladies!? She’s going to jail! Everything is here. This is the Overlook Hotel of sitcoms. It’s only season three. There are eight seasons.
In this time of unprecedented uncertainty and political volatility, I am looking for something that will help me put these United States and our present socio-political climate in some context.
Full House is not it.
I may never be ready for Fuller House.