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Full House - S01 E01

Comedy . Drama . Family

Full House follows Danny Tanner, widowed father of three young and rambunctious girls recruits his two buddies--his rock 'n' roller brother-in-law, Jesse, and his best friend, Joey, an infrequently employed stand-up comic--to move in and help him raise the brood.

Episode Title: Our Very First Show
Airs: 1987-09-18 at
  • Alan Bunce

    It has lots of laughs but few credible plot crises to draw its energy from. But there are reminders of Dad's plight - as when he stands alone, after his mother leaves, and reflects on the very uncomic reality of dealing with his family's future. [18 Sept 1987, p.22]

    Christian Science Monitor Full Review
  • Tom Shales

    Demonstrates plenty of marksmanship in the old aim-to-please department. It has a nice convivial camaraderie going for it, and one fail-safe ingredient in reserve: the proverbial cute baby. [22 Sept 1987, p.D1]

    Washington Post Full Review
  • Clifford Terry

    Predictably, this means it's a program in which the kids don't act like kids but the adults do. There are all kinds of cutesy-poo situations and lines like, "The baby's sleeping like a baby," your basic thigh-slap diaper- changing scene and a final segue into full-throttle poignance. [22 Sept 1987, p.7C]

    Chicago Tribune Full Review
  • Robert P. Laurence

    It's not a laughing matter. [22 Sept 1987, p.E-7]

    San Diego Union-Tribune Full Review
  • John J. O'Connor

    And so it goes, one predictable situation following another, with the actors frantically trying to keep the patient from becoming a full-fledged corpse.

    The New York Times Full Review
  • Steve Sonsky

    Full House is your standard-issue, cheap-laugh, bankrupt- of-new-ideas, claustrophobic, one-note-samba sitcom. It's enough to make you wish "Webster" were back. For provoking that sentiment alone, it should be razed. [22 Sept 1987, p.C1]

    Miami Herald Full Review
  • Howard Rosenberg

    Full House isn't playing with a full deck. It oozes and blubbers for a half hour, yielding no laughs or life. You need a Geiger counter to detect its pulse. [22 Sept 1987, p.C6]

    Los Angeles Times Full Review