In addition to spending leg numbing lengths of time on the loo, most creative types seek inspiration through as great a diversity of sensory input as possible. The designers of both cars in this brisk, Britain versus Bavaria face-off, for instance, strike me as stout devotees of the silver screen.
Excluding hi-fi installation specialists whose clothes tend to fall clean off not 30 seconds after they’re through the door, there is, of course, not a great deal currently on offer from German cinema. But then resident BMW design obersturmgruppenfuehrer Chris Bangle is -despite those pill-box glasses and suspiciously smart beard- actually an American. Which is why I’ll wager that inspiration for the £36,000 M Coupe came from an obscure little West Coast number called ‘Harold and Maude’…
Obsessed with death, teenager Harold seeks maternal attention by contriving ever more visually visceral fake suicides. His hapless mum buys him an E-Type Jaguar in the hope of momentarily diverting his attention from the field dressing up box, and he promptly has at it with a blow torch. The upshot, an E-Type hearse, is easily the best looking car I’ve ever seen. Add vinyl roof and chrome scrolls to the tortoise and hearse bodywork that is this BMW’s marriage of Z3 and Coupe, and you get the picture.
Whilst perhaps it’s the black on black presentation of this £48,800 Tuscan S that brings British director Tim Burton’s chthonic rendering of Gotham City to mind and, with it, for every glimpse of the pair of mating manta rays that constitute the complex curvature of the TVR’s bonnet, rumbling images of Batman’s bespoke wheels.
Discreet front splitter, near vertical boot lip gurney and massive, 18″ aluminium tarantula alloys are all that visually differentiate the Tuscan S from the standard car. Classic TVR, please-replace-your-divot styling both gives the car all the road presence of a combine harvester and overcomes the problem of honing panel gaps in glass fibre.
Almost. For closer inspection reveals one or two somewhat clunky details: Sadly, the shape of the door glazing bears no relationship whatsoever to the aperture in which it sits. And both front and rear roof pillars are clumsily fattened to weather-seal the straight edges of the glass. Furthermore, it’s unfortunate that all the driver sees of the Tuscan exterior is a gently vacillating panel gap running away up the front wing to an hastily called meeting with both bonnet panels atop the wheel arch.
Nonetheless, stacked, Jelly Tot tail lights over carbon mat wrapped exhausts look purposeful indeed astern. And my only criticism of the bows is that I’d love to see that gently lumpen, body coloured colander replaced by proper, gleaming mesh nicked off the grille of a Bentley.
The now familiar M Coupe’s extraordinary confluence of hairdresser and hearse defies stylistic compartmentation, continuing to simultaneously please and baffle in equal measure. The biggest compliment I can pay it is to suggest that it’s like paint on canvas; you either like the end result or not. Simple as that… Suffice it to say that, parked alongside the TVR, few gave the pugnacious Coupe a second glance.
Now, I’m a huge fan of Peter Wheeler’s innovative interior design work, which reached its zenith with the glorious detailing of the Cerbera. The milled brass, aluminium and leather of the Tuscan S cockpit also makes a stunning first impression. But after 48 hours living with the car I can’t help feeling that, in this case, where there’s brass there tends to be a little muck too…
Centre stage is the backlit, brass faced instrument binnacle with fret-cut velocities loping indolently round the perimeter from 0 to 200. Sadly, however, unlike the Cerbera’s all-analogue instrumentation, the Tuscan boasts an LCD screen offering 7 differing displays including nefarious engine data and, oh no… a digital rev’ counter.
This doesn’t work for the same reason digital watches don’t. Because you actually look at a watch to tell you what time it isn’t. In other words, if your parking meter expires in 20 minutes time, one glance at the hands of a conventional watch gives the eye an instantly intelligible gap twixt then and now. Look at a digital readout, on the other hand, and prep in the form of sums is required to glean the same knowledge. Same with a rev’ counter: All you want to know is how much louder the present gear will take you before something under the bonnet surrenders. But in the Tuscan, instead of a simple needle scything towards a red line, you are presented with just two huge numbers that scroll by faster than the floor indicator of a passenger lift heading south with a snapped cable, followed by the staggered activation of three gearchange warning lights atop the binnacle. None of which, with the engine more of a constant bellow than a rising crescendo over 5000rpm and everything happening very fast indeed, gives you much warning.
TVR argue that as soon as you know the engine this isn’t a problem, especially as you can set the warning lights to your own specified levels… Maybe they’re right. But the fact remains that, mounted to adjust with the steering rake, the binnacle still vibrates so much that reading the smaller LCD information is nigh on impossible without risk of a simultaneous, impromptu visit to the shrubbery.
Elsewhere the interior continues with a crafty blend of the elegant and the excruciating: There’s something almost organic about the artful shaping of the instrument binnacle top and the roof release clamp housing; suggesting that Mr. Wheeler’s spent time on the throne with the Boy’s Own Bumper Book of Starfish. Whereas the blobby, out of context central pod housing a nasty, in-your-face Japanese radio is a low point (Don’t Roberts make a car radio?). As are turning knobs either clockwise or anti-clockwise -depending on where you’re sitting- to activate electric windows with a mind of their own when it comes to subsequent size of aperture awarded.
Ergonomically, though, the downright irritating prize goes to a seatbelt which consistently refuses to unhand you after braking, a boot that you simply can’t open unless you happen to be packing a gentleman’s tortoiseshell shoehorn (and therein lies the fuel filler cap), and an entirely inaccessible immobiliser key socket tucked into the back of the dashboard shelf just to the left of the wheel. Forget the fast getaway; if you’re anything like as hopeless with your left hand as my wife insists I am, then a puce eternity of fumbling will still deny you access to the loud pedal.
Again, we’re familiar with the M coupe interior, so I won’t dwell on it’s teutonic correctness save to say that it’s all beautifully crafted in faded burgundy and black leathers. The only jarring note to this simple elegance being nasty, chrome surrounds to the instruments that glitter with all the understated elegance of tinsel on a toddler’s fairy costume.
Both cars offer a fine driving position -the aluminium picket fence that is the Tuscan’s adjustable pedal box accidentally suiting me fine as set. TVR seats still boast the plastic jumping spider, hand pump bulb lumbar adjustment, which works well. But it’s the BMW that ultimately proves most comfortable due to the tendency of the TVR’s lateral support bolster extremities to gouge into the back just below the armpits. Not, however, that you’ll notice overmuch…
Under the skin, lighter composite construction to reduce the Tuscan S’s weight by 30kg, revised front suspension geometry to embrace the turn in characteristics of those bigger, 18″ alloys and heftier, ventilated brake discs fore and aft complement assorted 3996cc, straight six, 24 valve power plant tinkerings: Sequential fuel injection and a higher compression ratio gang up to raise power output 30bhp over the standard car to 390bhp at 7000rpm and torque 20lb/ft to 330lb/ft at 5250rpm. This, TVR claim, will bring up 60mph in about 4 seconds dead and, ultimately, drag the horizon your way at over 190mph. And I, for one, am not about to argue. Apparently, this Tuscan S lacks the close ratio box intended as standard (“imagine a 6-speed box without 1st” say TVR), which should see sprint times dip below the 4 second mark since 60mph will appear in 1st gear. Ulp.
The M Coupe also benefits from underbonnet refurbishment, a new 3246cc, 24 valve straight six boasting 325bhp at 7500rpm and the same 258lb/ft of torque at 4900rpm as before. This prompts a claimed 0-62mph dash in a scant 5.3 seconds. whilst an electronic spoilsport limits top speed to 155mph.
There’s a specific drill for eking the best 0-60mph time out of a car under test; air-conditioning off, all windows shut, all superfluous electrics off, revs to peak torque… Then brutal clutch dumping followed by equally merciless, time-saving, clutchless changes where possible.
Likewise, there’s a specific drill for exploring the outer extremities of the Tuscan S performance envelope: It’s the Black and Decker 3-speed Cordless, with Hammer Action. With this you must vigorously trepan your skull until you’re sufficiently lobotomised to even attempt anything as foolish as consistently flooring the throttle on the Queen’s highway…
The Tuscan’s frill-free attitude to thrill seeking deliberately ostracises such safety conscious frippery as airbags, ABS and traction control. This is about as red in tooth and claw as road cars get. However, throttle pedal travel longer than a wet weekend on Blackpool Pleasure Beach bends the ankle to almost unnatural attitudes at the limit, thus dictating that you’re hardly going to overcook proceedings by accident.
Injudicious use of the peddle from rest will set the rear end smoking like a private on sentry duty but, once the tyres bite, the Tuscan gathers momentum like a cart horse kicked over a cliff. Finding the superlatives to describe the sounds filling the cockpit at this point is tricky if you’ve always used the marque as a yardstick for every other car with truly loud pretensions. Suffice it to say you may as well switch off, er, Radio 2 and concentrate on trying to anticipate the next change up. This moment arrives so fast that you’ll only manage one, well chosen expletive -“SHIT”, I find, does the job- before it’s time to slot the next gear via a suitably butch, accurate, short throw lever.
Over 100mph comes up in 3rd gear, at which point you can either find yourself a deserted race track, or simply potter down to the local nick and ask to see the breakfast menu.
The BMW’s noises off are more muted -the polite society lion (“ahem, SNARL.. If you’ll excuse me”) to the TVR’s enraged werewolf- yet still compliment a highly effective slingshot. The chasm in straight line performance between the two only crystallising when travelling out of a speed restricted area in convoy: The Tuscan S will pull like a six year old in a sweet shop from just 2000rpm in 3rd (that’s about 35mph), whilst the Coupe requires rather more use of a lighter but no less accurate gearshift to keep the greased eel smooth straight six on song. Meanwhile, the TVR has simply disappeared; if there is anything quicker in a straight line, we haven’t been introduced…
So direct is the Tuscan’s steering that it’s hard to believe it is actually power assisted. Wrist aid is only really perceptible when executing one of those elegant, 37 point turns the car’s vast turning circle dictates. TVR explain that the real reason for its installation is to help dampen proceedings down a little. A little is right: Abetted by suspension settings that will accurately call heads or tails with every discarded coin you run over, the steering writhes in your hands like the python caught paddling in Tarzan’s favourite pond and is all too eager to send the car diving off to explore some fresh area of tarmac not, originally, on your itinerary. The Tuscan needs to be driven every inch of every road, constantly reminded who’s in charge.
Turn is commensurately sharp; the TVR changing direction like a ball bounced off a wall. No hint of understeer, naturally. Cornering speeds being entirely dictated by bravery and light back end fear of excessive laundry bills. It will, I confess, take someone far braver than I to report on the hairy arsed limits of this car, particularly in the soggy conditions that prevailed during my tenure. Moreover, the Tuscan brakes, though boasting bags of feel and immense power, both lack ABS and tend to set the car squirming off the straight and narrow under the full loafer. Suffice it to say that, in the dry, encouragingly daft A road speeds are up for grabs without a murmur of dissent from the tail.
Hop straight into the BMW and everything feels hilariously easy by comparison. You’d be forgiven for accusing the car of a lack of feel and weight to the steering after the TVR’s in your face feedback. You may even find yourself grumbling about the need to drop a gear in the quest for more power. The reality, though, is that this is simply a far easier car to drive quickly. The Coupe feels far more nimble and agile than the Tuscan, better steering damping making it easier to place accurately on the road. And, though lacking the TVR’s ultimate intimacy twixt driver and front wheels, it can be thrown through corners in considerably less brave trousers thanks to the ministrations of nicely judged traction control.
The shorter pedal travel of the BMW even allows for my clumsy equivalent of heel and toeing. Not even the wincingly warped foot of a freshly hobbled slave would be able to cope with such a challenge in the TVR. The brakes are more progressive than the Tuscan’s, though still hugely powerful, and the ride a positive treat after the TVR’s wheelbarrow over corrugated iron motorway showing.
A large proportion of TVR’s spend their lives burbling and coughing up and down busy shopping streets on a Saturday morning, disconsolately blipping throttles in the hunt for gullible squeeze. In this respect the Tuscan handsomely outscores the BMW. On the other hand, if asked to live on a day by day basis with a very fast car, the M Coupe is so much more civilised in every respect that it’s hard to ignore. Oh and, lest we forget, it is a wholesome and gently remarkable £10,000+ less expensive than the TVR…
Trouble is, though irritating and enthralling in equal measure, the deeper you delve into the bottomless pit that is Tuscan S performance, the stronger the urge -after a bit of a quiet lie down in a darkened room- to go back and, pushing just a little harder at each visit, do it all over again.