The west coast nostalgia merchants responsible for this picture had only one thing in mind--an audience with perfect vision. Grade school mentality is no of consequence and a speaking knowledge of English isn't necessary, but the color-blind fan is sunk without a hope. "The Swordsman" is shot full of more color than a Tartan plaid, and its plot is every bit as checkered.

Wearing kilts instead of blackface, Larry Parks is a Scotsman here, returning to his ancestral clan. Clans aren't worth a darn unless they're a-feudin' and pretty soon another clan turns up with plaids and tempers that clash with Parks' outfit. After a couple of deep technicolor breaths of the sky (blue) the trappings (scarlet) and the lochs (emerald) the picture settles down to conversation (colorless, but strongly accented). The time has come to stop looking and listen. Clan wars are futile, says the hero sand because his bonny one belongs to the other clan, the time has come to make up. Ellen Drew, the bonny one, flashes her eyes at him and aggravates her clansmen. They start to mutter and a wind comes up.

The crux of the plot appears soon after. Parks is grabbed as a hostage, is recovered by his own clan who are then ambushed after they have just thrown a shake-and-be-friends banquet for the rival clan (following all this?) Parks has just time enough to grab his sword and change in his photogeuie, canary-yellow fencing jacket before he sets matters right. Tempers have quieted down in the end, but the colors are still blazing.