There’s a point where nostalgia becomes more like necrophilia, and “Fuller House” immediately crosses that line. Exhumed on the pretense of millennial desire (you loved the show as kids; you’ll love it even more as stunted, binge-watching adults), Netflix’s 13-episode revival of the old ABC sitcom “Full House” is less an update than an irony-free pantomime of the past.
It represents a new low in the current culture’s inability to leave behind the blankies, binkies and wubbies of one’s youth. It squeezes itself in with all the other retrograde fare (“The X-Files”; the forthcoming reiterations of “Gilmore Girls” and “Twin Peaks”) that is constantly being served in r...
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