Based on the novel 1101 Park Avenue by Eric Hatch, director Gregory La Cava's My Man Godfrey strikes the Great Depression's economic divide from the very credits. The camera pans from the stars' names up in skyscrapers of lights to a hobo camp in a city dump. There, the kind-hearted but small-brained socialite Irene Bullock (Carole Lombard) acquires Godfrey (William Powell), a "forgotten man," as an item in a scavenger hunt, then hires him as her family's butler. As nutty as they are moneyed, the Bullocks challenge Godfrey with everything from hungover hallucinations to a horse in the library to stolen pearls under his mattress. Profligate indulgence is the only life the Bullocks can imagine -- in all innocence, Irene asks why he lives at the dump when there are so many nicer places -- but Godfrey moves between the worlds, buying food for the other forgotten men as soon as he has the money. A few reversals, misunderstandings and hidden identities later, we know that the real bums are those without purpose, whatever their net worth, and everyone lives happily ever after.

The 1930s endured the worst economy in US history, of course. The stagflation of the 1970s and the Internet bubble bust of this decade don't compare. But the bitter helplessness of unemployment is the same in any generation. If you've ever been laid off, you know, and so does My Man Godfrey. "The only difference between a derelict and a man is a job," Godfrey explains to a high-society gadfly who has never worked a day in his life. Being a good butler is Godfrey's moral salvation much more than his financial one. He learns that it is a purpose of serving others that validates a life, and no quantity of money excuses anything less. Of all the idle Bullocks, only Irene shows such worth, in her impulsive adoption of Godfrey.

That simple moral of dignity in usefulness is always needed. Somehow, we never learn the lesson. So though My Man Godfrey was already remade once in 1957, I imagine bringing it up to date again. It would not be hard. The Bullock girls would likely dabble at college themselves, instead of merely dating college boys, but as the likes of Paris Hilton have unfortunately forced us to know, little else has changed in the disengaged lives of the absurdly rich. Godfrey could not remain a "forgotten man," in the phrase made famous by FDR, but he could easily be taken for an illegal immigrant, or Katrina survivor, or a factory worker globalized out of a job.

Many of the painted 1936 posters for My Man Godfrey suggest an entirely different story than the current video packages. With confused grins and embarrassing positions, those posters laugh as they invite the original audience to a sorely-needed escape. If we view this Oscar-nominated screwball comedy as a sober historical relic, we gain a comfortable distance, clearing any need to examine our own consciences. But we also lose the key to that joyous escape, sweetest when we know what is snapping at our heels..