In the 1990s, ABC was proud to host TGIF, a two hour block of insipid hate crimes against comedy that they broadcast into American households every Friday night for an entire decade. Anchored by humor deadzones like Step by Step and Family Matters, the crown jewel of this empire of the destruction of culture was Full House.
I’m sure there were worse shows in the history of television, but Full House sits in that perfect sweet spot of being not just a burning septic tank of blandness but of being one with actually longevity. We stared into the abyss and 192 vacant eyed episodes stared back.
Netflix has been good to us, a generous and benevolent tyrant of streaming. They have shown us mercy in recent years, bringing us new shows that never would see the light of day on networks, and gifting us with new seasons of shows that had been discarded on the trash heap of television history. But now they have turned on us, with their power and their rage.
Netflix is bringing back Full House for 13 episodes, the number chosen obviously as an omen of the end times. The deal is not done yet, so there is still slim hope that this catastrophe can be averted, but it’s a hope that is dying as more and more details pile up, as the rising tide of poisonous nostalgia surges to drown us all.
The revival will be called Fuller House, and will center on DJ Tanner and Kimmy Gibbler, while all the old faces are lined up in guest roles: Sagat, Stamos, and Alanis Morissette’s rage muse.
The future is dark, my friends, but our vodka is clear.