OK, here's the deal. There was a time when I never would have believed in career revivals. Most of the time, they are the functionings of slick publicity machines and the magazine trade. Either they're grand pronouncements about someone who never left in the first place (Tommy Lee Jones) or it's a flashing applause sign for someone who's emerged victorious from rehab (Dennis Hopper). But rarely do these "comebacks" amount to a sustained second career as an A-list talent.

We've got a growing list of folks who could use a call from the comeback gods. Charlie Sheen, line two. White courtesy phone for a Tom Berenger. I've got a collect call from a Miss Julia Roberts. Will you accept the charges?

Seems to me that anybody looking for big-screen redemption, need look no further than one man. The newly crowned posterboy for successful comebacks: John Travolta.

I know, I know, he's good looking and he's dynamic as hell, but there's more to it than that. I think the reason he's rocking in high gear right now can be rounded down to one significant characteristic: John Travolta has figured it out.

Travolta is an actor who's figured out how to stay on top. He's not still trying to live off Vinnie Barbarino or Tony Manero. He's not out opening restaurants and pumping out a brainless string of idiotic action films where his biceps shine. He's not trying to be a rock star or a politician or a controversial author. He's not trying to "feel his way through Shakespeare" or begging to direct.

He's just an actor. And, whether you want to admit it or not, he's a damn good working actor. And let me emphasize "working" 'cause John has admitted himself that his past problems have largely been the fault of sloth. He'd make a big hit...then take a year off. He'd make a flop...then take a year off. And before long...the public started forgetting, and the agents stopped calling. Now, if he makes a bad film (say, White Man's Burden) he's got a Broken Arrow to help soothe the pain.

Travolta's latest film, Michael , is a winner. The first good thing I can applaud is Travolta's performance itself. He imparts a much-needed jolt into what could have been a lightweight piece of fluff. Nora Ephron, the director, wrote the script with her sister Delia, and it's a sure bet that there was a lot more decaf latté than double espresso in the cup when this brew finished first draft. Ephron is a talented scribe, but after her last effort -- the poorly cast This Is My Life -- it's obvious that her work is best enabled through the force of a major leading talent. Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally. Tom Hanks in Sleepless in Seattle. (With Meg Ryan batting clean-up in both.)

The title character of Michael is an angel, on earth for his last hurrah before being forever locked inside the pearly gates. He's living in a rundown hotel in Iowa with Jean Stapleton, helping her out while he lives and consuming to every extreme. Massive doses of every doctor's no-no list -- sugar, alcohol, cigarettes. (Imagine my surprise -- if diet choice is a qualification, then I've been an angel for years now.) He ships off a letter to some tabloid reporters of the National Enquirer ilk, who jump at the chance to smash this cover story lob back over the net.

Needless to say, the angel works a miracle here and there, and points the reporters, all of whom are about a quart shy of pride, toward redemption. If I say anything else about the plot, I would give away some juicy details that are better kept tucked under my surgical cap.

The film is all Travolta's, and he scoops it up under his arm and runs with it. His smiles are genuine, his philosophies are homespun and accessible, and his charm is sharp as a tack. Over his last several films, he has developed a way of delivering lines that harkens back to Jimmy Stewart and Henry Fonda. Travolta has really learned to underplay his dialog, letting his lines slide to the audience like a crisp dollar bill being drawn up smoothly into a change machine. (By comparison, we have a Steven Seagal -- the rumpled, faded greenback that keeps getting coughed out with that annoying buzzing noise.)

There are wonderful performances sprinkled across this movie. William Hurt and Robert Pastorelli are great as the sleazy reporters who find out more about themselves than they bargained for. I wish Jean Stapleton were in the film longer. It's a treat to see her on any screen again, big or small, and here, as the pixilated hotel owner, we get to see a new turn on an old character. She's Edith Bunker with a goodly dose of attitude, a little vinegar on the collard greens, and it only reminded me of how much I liked her before. I've never been able to stomach Andie MacDowell in any role before this one. She is normally about two steps away from an oversized cupie doll, orating lines and throwing toothy smiles, but never quite getting a grip on acting. Here, though, it seems like she's comfortable and open, and she's a delight to watch.

The second thing that impressed me about Michael was its message. There wasn't one. Oh, there was a lesson about redeeming oneself from despair, and how love can save a person, yes. Those messages were there, subtle and absorbable. But this was no big, honkin' religious tract. I heard a lot of pre-hype about how churches didn't want "their" angels portrayed as drinkers and smokers, unshaven and needing a haircut. I was all prepared to roll my eyes as I was force-fed a meal of religious quotes, thoughts, and platitudes. There were none.

This film is about a character who happens to be an angel. It is accepted that this angel is from Heaven. He explains that he fought the devil, that he wrote parts of the Bible, and that he can work an occasional miracle. Other than that, this character could be Peter Sellers' character in Being There or Jodie Foster's Nell. He's complex because he's simple, and that's that.

Granted, this film is not some "important" movie. It's not going to shake up your thinking about the government or race relations or world peace. It's a thoughtful comedy, one with bits of romance, a few cheap laughs, and some great scripting. It may not win any major awards, it may not be a Forrest Gump cash cow, but, in some ways, it's a better Gump than Gump, believe it or not.

Well, in a nutshell, go see Michael and keep the faith. Travolta's not just back. Thank Heaven, he's here to stay.