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今日の女性にとってのSophie's Choice

Emma Stone Talks ‘Irrational Man,’ the Sony Hack and Keeping Her Personal Life Private
The 26-year-old actress on working with Woody Allen, the story behind that Andrew Garfield paper bag and her next project: a musical with Ryan Gosling

June 17, 2015 9:27 a.m. ET

今週のWall Street Journalの週末版の雑誌はEmma Stoneがカバーストーリでした。その余興ともいえる動画がこちら。

この動画を取り上げた記事にSophie's Choice of any modern day womanという表現がありました。映画もしくは小説を見てなくてもなんとなく意味は想像できると思います。

Emma Stone Answers The Age-Old Question: Bradley Cooper Or Ryan Gosling?
6/18/2015 at 9:26 AM ET

Putting Stone to the test, the publication asked the 26-year-old actress a series of rapid fire questions, which included what she prefers between: Hot yoga or a cold martini? Paparazzi or colonoscopy? Sunscreen or suntan? Glamping with Warren Buffet or Bungee Jumping with Bill Gates?

And the Sophie's Choice of any modern day woman: Bradley Cooper or Ryan Gosling?

Watch the fun video for all the answers to the questions above (which are respectively: hot yoga, colonoscopy, suntan (surprisingly), glamping) and more below.


And the Sophie's Choice of any modern day woman: Bradley Cooper or Ryan Gosling?

選択できないものを選択しなければいけないことに対してSophie's Choiceを使うようで、Urban Dictionaryには載っていました。まあ、不謹慎な使い方と眉をひそめる人もいるかもしれませんね。。。

(Urban Dictionary)
sophie's choice
A hard decision
"If I have to choose between her and Tyra, it's not exactly sophie's choice"

Sophie's choice
From the novel and film of the same name, an impossibly difficult choice, especially when forced onto someone. The choice is between two unbearable options, and it's essentially a no-win situation.

"Sophie's Choice" is centered on a scene in Auschwitz where Sophie has just arrived with her ten-year old son and her seven-year old daughter and a sadistic doctor, presumably Doctor Mengele, tells her that she can only bring one of her children; one will be allowed to live while the other is to be killed.

As a mother, Sophie adores both of her children and can't make this agonizing choice... until several soldiers force her and she hastily gives her daughter to them, sobbing as they take her little girl away.


映画や小説を読んでない方で、Sophie’s Choiceを知りたい方は以下をごらんください。物語の核心でもあるので、ネタバレになることをご容赦ください。


Excerpt from Sophie's Choice

“Du bist eine Polack,” said the doctor. “Bist du auch eine Kommunistin?” Sophie placed one arm around Eva’s shoulders, the other arm around Jan’s waist, saying nothing. The doctor belched, then more sharply elaborated. “I know you’re a Polack, but are you also another one of these filth Com munists?” And then in his fog he turned toward the next prisoners, seeming almost to forget Sophie.
Why hadn’t she played dumb? “Nicht sprecht Deutsch.” It could have saved the moment. There was such a press of people. Had she not answered in German he might have let the three of them pass through. But there was the cold fact of her terror, and the terror caused her to behave unwisely. She knew now what blind and merciful ignorance had prevented very few Jews who arrived here from knowing, but which her association with Wanda and the others had caused her to know and to dread with fear beyond utterance: a selection. She and the children were undergoing at this very moment the ordeal she had heard about—rumored in Warsaw a score of times in whispers—but which had seemed at once so unbearable and unlikely to happen to her that she had thrust it out of her mind. But here she was, and here was the doctor. While over there— just beyond the roofs of the boxcars recently vacated by the death-bound Malkinia Jews—was Birkenau. and the doctor could select for its abyssal doors anyone whom he desired. This thought caused her such terror that instead of keeping her mouth shut she said, “Ich bin polnisch! In Krakow geboren!” Then she blurted helplessly, “I’m not Jewish! Or my children— they’re not Jewish either.” And added, “They are racially pure. They speak German.” Finally she announced. “I’m a Christian. I’m a devout Catholic
The doctor was a little unsteady on his feet. He leaned over for a moment to an enlisted underling with a clipboard and murmured something, meanwhile absorbedly picking his nose. Eva, pressing heavily against Sophie’s legs, began to cry. “So you believe in Christ the Redeemer?” the doctor said in a thick-tongued but oddly abstract voice, like that of a lecturer examining the delicately shaded facet of a proposition in logic. Then he said something which for an instant was totally mystifying: “Did He not say. Suffer the little children to come unto Me’?” He turned back to her, moving with the twitchy methodicalness of a drunk.
Sophie. with an inanity poised on her tongue and choked with fear, was about to attempt a reply when the doctor said, “You may keep one of your children.”
“Bitte?” said Sophie.
“You may keep one of your children,” he repeated. “The other one will have to go. Which one will you keep?”
“You mean, I have to choose?”
“You’re a Polack, not a Yid. That gives you a privilege—a choice.”
Her thought processes dwindled, ceased. Then she felt her legs crumple. “I can’t choose! I can’t choose!” She began to scream. Oh, how she recalled her own screams! Tormented angels never screeched so loudly above hell’s pandemonium. “Ich kann nicht wählen!” she screamed.
The doctor was aware of unwanted attention. “Shut up!” he ordered. “Hurry now and choose. Choose, . . . or I’ll send them both over there. Quick!”
She could not believe any of this. She could not believe that she was now kneeling on the hurtful, abrading concrete, drawing her children toward her so smotheringly tight that she felt that their flesh might be engrafted to hers even through layers of clothes. Her disbelief was total, deranged. It was this belief reflected in the eyes of the gaunt, waxy-skinned young Rottenfuhrer, the doctor’s aide, to whom she inexplicably found herself looking upward in supplication. He appeared stunned, and he returned her gaze with a wide-eyed baffled expression, as if to say: I can’t understand this either.
“Don’t make me choose,” she heard herself plead in a whisper, “I can’t choose.”.
“Send them both over there, then,” the doctor said to the aide, “nach links.”
“Mama!” She heard Eva’s thin but soaring cry at the instant that she thrust the child away from her and rose from the concrete with a clumsy stumbling motion. “Take the baby!” she called out. “Take my little girl!”
At this point the aide—with a careful gentleness that Sophie would try without success to forget— tugged at Eva’s hand and led her away into the waiting legion of the damned. She would forever retain a dim impression that the child had continued to look back, beseeching. But because she was now almost completely blinded by salty, thick, copious tears she was spared whatever expression Eva wore, and she was always grateful for that. For in the bleakest honesty of her heart she knew that she would never have been able to tolerate it, driven nearly mad as she was by her last glimpse of that vanishing small form.