Not to stir the preservationist pot, but the DVD print transfer that Netflix uses for My Man Godfrey is dreadful and made me hate the movie. Sound was cracklish and honking, the picture faded and frayed. And the film isn’t exactly the screwball touchstone I was hoping for. It’s more a comedy of manners than a whirling dervish. Lombard’s never been sweeter and William Powell’s got the mustache working hard, but otherwise, pass.