Angel In America -- Travolta's Tentative `Michael' Amuses But Rarely Soars

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XX 1/2 "Michael," with John Travolta, William Hurt, Andie MacDowell, Robert Pastorelli, Jean Stapleton. Directed by Nora Ephron, from a script by Ephron, Pete Dexter, Jim Quinlan and Delia Ephron. Aurora, Cinema 17, Crossroads, Everett 9, Factoria, Grand Cinemas, Kent 6, Issaquah 9, Mountlake 9, Parkway Plaza, SeaTac Mall, South Hill Mall, Uptown, Varsity. "PG" - Parental guidance advised because of language, sexual innuendo. ------------------------------------------------------------------

As the failure of "The Preacher's Wife" demonstrates, it may no longer be possible to film an angel story in the old-fashioned way. It's just not enough to have a heavenly spirit twinkle and smile and patch things up for two hours, even if he is played by Denzel Washington.

Nora and Delia Ephron, working from an original screenplay by Pete Dexter and Jim Quinlan, have moved in the opposite direction with their fitfully amusing comedy "Michael," in which John Travolta plays a hedonistic, sugar-addicted, beer-bellied, chain-smoking, womanizing angel who has been given only a limited number of miracles.

"It isn't my area," he explains when he doesn't want to perform one. He claims that this is his last earthly trip because only so many visits are allowed. There's a tone of regret about everything he does, even when he's clearly enjoying himself.

The movie's best moments are its joyous ones, as Michael demonstrates his love of earth's pleasures, such as eating pie, flirting with waitresses, playing car bingo, dancing up a Saturday night fever, taking a detour to check out "the world's largest frying pan," leading sing-alongs of "All You Need Is Love" (he reveres John and Paul, not the apostles but the Beatles) and, uh, bullfighting with his head instead of a cape.

This Michael is so dotty that he can't help but charm, and no one can do dumb bliss like Travolta. But when he owns up to having written Psalm 85 ("I had no idea they would be collected") and starts offering advice-column homilies such as "you've got to learn to laugh; that's the way to true love," the movie begins to feel familiar and pushy.

The story line concerns three tabloid reporters from the National Mirror (William Hurt, Andie MacDowell, Robert Pastorelli) who are investigating the claims of an Iowa woman (Jean Stapleton) who says the archangel Michael has moved in with her and flattened a bank into a parking lot to free her from debt.

She remembers fondly how he assaulted the "moneychangers" at the bank. But when the reporters meet Michael and try to find out how his wings are attached and other details, Michael gets a little surly.

"He's not good at suffering fools but he'll be better in the morning," says Stapleton, who isn't around long enough. Her cranky, pragmatic believer is more intriguing and possibly smarter than any of the reporters, who have each been assigned a quirky trait and not much else.

MacDowell's character writes awful country songs ("It's my hobby") and is only pretending to be an angel expert. Hurt is a muckraker who was once a serious journalist; he got fired from his real reporting job for being drunk at work. Pastorelli plays a sweet soul with an adorable dog, and there's not much more to say about the role.

"Michael" is an improvement on the Ephron sisters' last Christmas movie, the unwatchable "Mixed Nuts," and it's easier to watch than "The Preacher's Wife" just because you can't predict every move it's going to make. But it's more tentative than it should be, and only Travolta and Stapleton seem to know how to make it soar.