This spotlight-on-Kirk episode sits at a mighty low 6.6 rating with 97 voters as of this writing. And the previous review has five thumbs up and none down for saying good riddance to Kirk at season's end. Why all the hate on Kirk?
Yeah, one's enjoyment of this particular episode will depend heavily on whether one likes Kirk or at least loves to hate on the insufferably vain and pompous pathological liar. Me, I like the character and thought this episode was hilarious.
I suspect the producers created Kirk to be this series' answer to Mr. Carlson from THE BOB NEWHART SHOW. Mr. Carlson was more abrasive than Kirk, yet he was beloved by audiences (of all Bob Hartley's patients he persisted the longest and boasted the most series appearances).
Okay, ducking out of a day's dirty work in his own cafe to slip over to Boston for a day's playing video games and eating ice cream was rotten. But it was so over the top rotten that it's laugh out loud funny when he confesses it and then brags about the catharsis he feels for being so honest. And yes, I know his day of Donkey Kong and double-dipped butter brickle was funded by the money Bob gave him to buy breakfast for the cast. He's a rotten guy--but one who is hard to hate because he is so devoid of malice.
Ted Baxter was a vain and pompous character who was also beloved because he too was like a child acting out and never really wanting to hurt anyone. How can you hate Kirk when he finally returns and is stunned and humbled by the extreme makeover of the Minuteman Cafe? He notes this kind of loving attention to detail sprang from friendship not duty.
I admit Kirk's heartwarming speech and promised repentance was undermined by his outrageous (and outrageously funny) whopper about what happened to that sixty-dollar bottle of champagne! Please be patient, God isn't finished with Kirk yet!
Something subtle that made me enjoy this episode even more was the irony. The show opens with Dick playing a portable Pac Man game when he was supposed to be working. And what was Kirk's crime? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone!
I dedicate this report to little Adrienne and Francoise Devane, who by the grace of God never were and thus never were subjected to being read Proust at bedtime (arguably a fate far worse than nonexistence!).