Michael (1996)

What makes Michael special is the way it smuggles a sincere, old-fashioned belief in people into a shaggy, funny road movie—then tops it off with a fantasy twist that feels more cozy than cosmic. Nora Ephron sets a gently mischievous tone, letting John Travolta play an angel who’s equal parts divine and disreputable, and the joke isn’t that he’s holy, but that grace can show up smelling like cigarettes and reaching for another slice of pie. The pleasures are in the warm chemistry and small human pivots along the journey, as William Hurt and Andie MacDowell’s guarded professionals slowly rediscover tenderness without the movie ever leaning too hard on sentiment. It won’t be for everyone if you want your angels solemn and spotless, but if you’re in the mood for charm, heart, and a little bit of heavenly trouble, this one lands softly and leaves you smiling.

Michael is clearly trying to be a warm, whimsical road movie about faith, grief, and second chances, with Nora Ephron aiming for a gently offbeat fairy tale rather than hard-edged satire. The problem is it often feels like a thin premise stretched too far: the pacing is sleepy, the plot beats can seem contrived, and the tone wobbles between sincere sentiment and “aren’t we adorable?” cuteness. John Travolta’s angel-as-a-raunchy-man-child is a swing that some will find charmingly odd, but others will read as miscast or grating, especially with the constant smoking, drinking, and flirtation. If you want a tight story or Ephron at her sharpest, this may disappoint; if you’re happy to coast on cozy vibes, a few sweet character moments, and a low-stakes supernatural hook, it can be an easy watch.