Why the ‘Full House’ house calls to its fans

Rich homeowners sure know how to get their complaints taken care of in San Francisco.

A few months ago it was the mansion dwellers of Presidio Terrace, who engaged U.S. Sen. Dianne Feinstein to intercede on their behalf after their failure to pay taxes put their street on the auction block.

This week, it was the people of Lower Pacific Heights. Their complaints about traffic and tourist scum persuaded the Municipal Transportation Agency’s Board of Directors to ban tour buses and other commercial vehicles from Broderick Street between Bush and Pine streets.

The target of their ire? The “Full House” house — one of those classic Victorian buildings, most recently sold in 2016 for $4 million, made famous for its appearance in the credits of the 1980s sitcom about the fictional Tanner family. The house also makes an appearance in “Fuller House,” the Netflix reboot that’s been running for three seasons now.

Apparently the presence of so many cheerful admirers, all agog over cheesy TV, has had a devastating impact on the experience of Pacific Heights life. Can you imagine? Not the neighbors’ entitlement — I already know you can imagine that. (If it’s any consolation, it could backfire on them. Banning buses just means people will arrive in cars, which will be far worse for neighborhood traffic and congestion.)

What I’m having trouble imagining is the deathless love for “Full House.”

I grew up watching “Full House,” and even as a child I could recognize that it was never a great show.

Heck, “Full House” wasn’t even the best part of ABC’s classic “TGIF” programming block. (That would be either the bizarrely wonderful Cold War relic “Perfect Strangers” or “Family Matters,” starring Reginald VelJohnson as Carl Winslow, the most realistic African American TV dad of the 1980s.)

The three main male characters on “Full House” were well-meaning, interchangeable lunkheads. The Olsen twins grew up into savvy businesswomen and respected fashion designers, but as precocious infants, they were annoying on every episode.

I couldn’t even be distracted by the familiar scenery, like I am when I watch another bad-but-beloved TV show, “The Streets of San Francisco.”

“Full House” was supposedly set in a San Francisco that is mysteriously absent. (Probably because the show — along with its Netflix sequel — was shot almost exclusively on a Warner Bros. lot in Burbank.) Yet, the cast and story have persisted in the public imagination — to the point where Lower Pacific Heights feels overwhelmed by its poor fans. Why? “There’s certainly a nostalgic affection for the series among people who were growing up during that period,” said Alice Leppert, an assistant professor of media and communication studies at Ursinus College in Pennsylvania. “But it was also a series that solicited ironic viewing. It was really successful at being open to interpretation in many different ways.”

Leppert studies 1980s sitcoms. She explained the ways in which “Full House” was perfectly calibrated to linger in the subconscious of innocent children like myself.

During the ’80s, Leppert explained, the social and political climate was attuned to “traditional values.” I could see her point — these years brought us things like the rise of the Christian right and Nancy Reagan’s “Just Say No” campaign.

But television was a chance for counterprogramming.

The television networks were interested in attracting professional women as viewers, Leppert said. This was the most likely group to bolt for cable television.

So the TV networks aimed all of those family sitcoms at their fantasies. That’s why “Full House” was full of good-looking men who cooked, cleaned the house and eagerly took on child care duties.

“I think there’s no question that similar fantasies would still be just as appealing today as they were 30 years ago,” Leppert said. Without a doubt. “Fuller House,” the sequel, offers a twist on this plot that seems a bit too, well, realistic. Three of the actresses in the original series have returned, with the eldest Tanner daughter, DJ, now a single mom, raising her three young boys in the house with her longtime best friend, also now a single mom, and sister Stephanie (Michelle, played by the Olsens, is nowhere to be seen).

There’s something utopian about that setup, but it’s hardly what I’d call the stuff of feminine fantasy — which is why “Fuller House” feels like a cash grab, not a journey into the public’s subconscious.

But what about the house? Well, that’s a fantasy all its own.

If the definition of a tourist attraction is something unusual that you won’t find at home, a $4 million Victorian certainly counts for the vast majority of people. (It’s true for the vast majority of San Franciscans, too.) The “Full House” house is a fantasy of real estate and television. That’s a lot of glamour for one building.

Small wonder people flock to it from miles around. If only the good neighbors of Pacific Heights had more sympathy for other people’s dreams.

“Full House” was full of goodlooking men who cooked, cleaned the house and took on child care.