By this time there are few literate people in the United States who don't know William Saroyan's philosophy of life. "I love to see people happy; things should be this way all the time," declares the hero of "The Human Comedy," first Saroyanesque venture into the realm of the motion picture. And the author drums away at his simple theme reel after reel, in a film which occasionally reaches heights of emotion and feeling rarely equalled on celluloid, but which descends to the maudlin almost as often.

To translate, Saroyon's message of man's basic goodness to a medium such as the screen requires a delicate hand, because the idea is very apt to be overdone. Clarence Brown, producer director, and Howard Estabrook, who wrote the screen play, try very hard but they sometimes outdo the shaggy-haired eccentric in being sloppily sentimental. "The Human Comedy" is the story of a typically Saroyan family in the typically Saroyan town of Ithaca, California. There is Homer MacCauley, who pedals a bicycle for Postal Telegraph and learns about life (Saroyan life, that is) from veteran telegrapher Frank Morgan and manager James Craig. His little brother Ulysses (Ulysses and Homer live in Ithaca, Saroyan reminds us gently) is the inevitable Saroyan child, full of wonder and questions, very marvelous and just a little unbelievable.

Fay Bainter as the mother is Saroyan's Cornelia: the mother of all the human race, who sees happiness through suffering, and finds solace in prayer. Father Ray Collins is dead, but his spirit returns at any given moment with words of comfort, and the MacCauleys are always aware of his presence.

In the role of the telegraph boy, Mickey Rooney turns in a performance amazingly better than any of his recent drooling. Jack Jenkins steals several scenes from old maestro Rooney as precocious Ulysses, and the other players, especially Frank Morgan (in a role which is becoming a wee bit stereotyped for him) are very adequate.

Once in a while there is a deft Saroyan touch which leaves you with that mellow, warm feeling inside. Such is the case when young Ulysses, frightened to terror by a figure in a store window, suddenly realizes the meaning of the word "afraid," and his face lights up in wonder with the new-gained knowledge, as the tears vanish. But when Brown, Estabrook, and Saroyan use their same technique on the philosophies of death and immortality, the effect is not the same. Saroyan's message, as simple as the child Ulysses, can't be spread on with a thick butter knife; the film emerges a combination of a House sandwich and a snack in Hamburg Heaven. It's worth seeing, if only for the better scenes.