HEAVEN CAN WAIT (1978) **1/2 Light and unambitious comedic effort from Warren Beatty, unless you consider that it was his directorial debut and he spends a great deal of his time onscreen dead. Perhaps more importantly it was Warren's first dalliance with a character styled on Joe Namath (who, you may remember, played out his run as quarterback for the Los Angeles Rams in 1977), a role that he would play to perfection in Love Affair. Warren has the look, the warmth, the attitude, and the knack of holding the ball by his ear as he's dropping back, but I just don't see the quick release. I mean, the ball just exploded out of Namath's hand. Of course James Mason isn't really head angel either, which is why it's a movie rather than reality. The metaphysical musings are only enough to confound Jack Warden ("everyone makes mistakes," true love is in the eyes, take the Concorde to heaven, you'll score the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl if you're meant to, you must obey what is written, etc.), but some of script ran towards prophetic: the Rams did make their first Super Bowl appearance after the 1979 season, it was played in the Rose Bowl, it was against the Steelers, and the quarterback (Vince Ferragamo) looked a bit like Beatty (and they say that Shirley MacLaine is the psychic one in the family, hmmph!). Of course the Steelers smeared the Rams-perhaps you don't have to obey what is written if you're Mean Joe Greene or Jack Lambert. Back to the movie...Beatty carries things well enough considering the light script. He's ahead, he's directing, and he doesn't want to make mistakes. He, therefore, plays it like a scrimmage (with Buck Henry available from the taxi squad). The best moments are mere profiles where the intensity of his self-absorption shines through in a manner that is no less than inspiring. As counterpoint, Charles Grodin, type-cast since he can't do anything else, demonstrates why egocentrism is a dangerous trait and a bad thing-nauseating and vile in the hands of anyone but experts. Dyan Cannon and Julie Christie have both offered much better performances, but to tell the truth I'd consider taking Dyan's faithless wife over Julie's warm environmentalist-even though she looks even weirder (cosmetic surgery look vs. horrible perm), she's not quite so bland. Warren, on the other hand, clearly prefers Christie, and one needn't trifle with the opinion of a connisseur at the height of his game. Given that chemistry was always the man's favorite subject, you can't help applauding the happy ending, even if it's not necessarily what you'd want for yourself. Warren's football metaphors, offered to a conference room full of corporate raiders, are as insightful as they are witty. Out with the "dumb football player" stereotype, in with the "dumb asshole greedy bastard" one. Don't drive yourself crazy trying to figure out where you know Vincent Gardenia (the head cop) from, like I did-he's Cosmo from Moonstruck.