Jingo is home from the war and expects the girl he loves to be waiting for him and his proposal. The girl is Yoshiko, who was abandoned as a baby before her mother's suicide and adopted by Jingo's family. She, in fact, did not wait for him, having apparently fallen in love with Mr. Noda. Noda is a veteran of the war who somewhat embarrassingly walks with a limp, but plays the violin and reads, while the townspeople play the harmonica and appear to be illiterate.
The film teases us with the possibility of romance between the quasi-siblings, reveals Yoshiko's plans to marry Mr. Noda, and, at the end, leaves us wondering if she truly has no feelings for Jingo and if he truly accepts the role of brother (-in-law). In my reading, no and no. Her preference for Noda over Jingo is not because the latter is too much of a brother, but because the former is an outsider in the village like herself. This connection was fostered through circumstance, but with Jingo's return, Yoshiko's feelings are ambiguous, like her identification with two mothers- one living and one dead.
The theme of outsiders in an insular village reappeared years later in A Legend or Was It? and it's interesting to compare the two. For the most part, the later film isn't sympathetic towards its villagers who come across as stereotypically provincial and irrational. Here, Kinoshita shows more of a humanist touch and one senses that he loves or at least respects his characters. He emphasizes the differences between the educated Mr. Noda and farmers like Jingo, but also their shared qualities. Mr. Noda points out how war gives their lives urgency, underscoring the fact that he simply got to begin living his before Jingo. But then we're shown Noda, in a distinct low-angle shot, playing violin for a seated circle of confused and bored boys used to the harmonica and folk songs. Tellingly, Yoshiko is seated among them with Jingo, and the two walk out on the performance to discuss his secret. But Jingo is too embarrassed to reveal his love now, and too good a person to ruin the happiness of others, so he returns home, where, without any conviction, he tells his mother that they need to embrace Yoshiko's marriage.
Once again, Kinoshita demonstrates his ability to capture the poetic beauty of wherever he films. The pastures of The Girl I Loved lend an innocence to the film that makes the war something of a distant memory. There is a transcendent shot of Yoshiko blissfully running through the pasture that is later echoed when Jingo chases his quasi-brother through the fields in tears. Also memorable is a rapid succession of cuts between Yoshiko applying lipstick and her mother's dress flowing in the wind, which now seems quite Kinoshita-esque. Overall, the film is simplistic in its story, but memorable for its poetic style and ambiguity.
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