Reporter Van Heflin travels to a small town to write about their annual tulip festival, but as soon as he gets there, he's greeted with nothing but strangeness from the town's residents. First, the head honcho, S.Z. Sakall, sits in the middle of the square and plays the oboe, the local hotel is full of colorful characters, and S.Z's seven daughters all have boys' names!
Since all seven daughters are beautiful, Van has a difficult choice on his hands. The oldest, Marsha Hunt, and the youngest, Kathryn Grayson, are the highest contenders for his affections, and it isn't long before the audience finds out the reason for Marsha's heavy come-on. According to tradition, the oldest daughter has to get married before any of the others can-and S.Z.'s very old fashioned!
Most people probably aren't going to choose to sit down and watch this obscure old movie, but for the few of you out there who remember Kathryn Grayson and love listening to her beautiful voice, she's given plenty of songs to show it off. Her beautiful coloratura soprano voice shines, but if you don't like opera singing, this movie will probably drive you up the wall.
I'm the first to admit I don't usually like Van Heflin, and I usually get him confused with Van Johnson and Arthur Kennedy, but in this movie he's actually a lot more likable than he usually is! I've never seen him in a romantic comedy before, and when he smiles and jokes around, he doesn't seem as grumpy as he normally does. Kathryn is also very sweet and likable, so once again, if you're looking for a film of hers to watch-she didn't make too many unfortunately-you could do a lot worse than Seven Sweethearts.
One more compliment for this light-hearted B movie: S.Z. Sakall, usually cast as a laughable foreigner, was given the opportunity to actually act in this movie, and he did a very good job. As a father terribly attached to his daughters, when he learns they're considering marrying and leaving him, he gets very hurt. If you watch this movie, you'll find out how effective his pouts can be.
