I know, you covet the iconic, ’60s Jaguar E-Type with a majestic hood that starts here and stretches into the next zip code. You fell in love with it when you were a kid and wish that they would make it again.
Well, you can’t have it. Government nannies these days prohibit taffy-stretched hoods under driver vision regulations. Write your congressman.
Meanwhile, you’ll just have to settle for the 2015 F-Type Coupe. Oh, you lucky dog.
This vicious, road-eating, ear-splitting cat is the first true sports car Jaguar has made since the E-Type died in 1974. It is glorious. Its bloodline runs straight back to the C- and D-Types that crossed the English Channel and conquered French LeMans. You thought that the Jaguar had gone the way of the British Empire? A once irrepressible power that you can only read about in history books?
Well, the empire is back — and the pride of England has one of its former colonies to thank. Credit Indian industrial giant Tata with giving Jaguar the means to rule the world stage once more with an armada of high-powered vessels. The irony is delicious, yes, m’lord?
When Ford cast off Jaguar and Land Rover in 2008 (part of its own empire downsizing to return to its core brands), the fading giants were gobbled up by Tata. We snickered at the time. Tata? The maker of tiny Indian econoboxes was going to save Jaguar? Would it run on curry?
We’re not snickering anymore. The colossus of India has poured capital into the English make and given legendary Jaguar designer Ian Cullum and his engineers the freedom to create magic again. The results are the sleek XF and XJ sedans and now the athletic F-Type.
Thank you, India. Just don’t call it a Tata F-Type. This beast roars with an English accent.
“This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,” intones English bad boy actor Tom Hiddleston (Loki in “Thor”), quoting Shakespeare in Jaguar’s “It’s good to be bad” ad campaign. The Jaguar lineup is unabashedly nationalistic — waving an English flag that has produced some of the greatest motorcars of all time. This is a proud beast that has recaptured its swagger (though not its leaping Jaguar on the hood — another casualty of the regulatory state. Something about European pedestrian crash rules).
The F-Type replaces the elegant but decidedly domesticated XK cat. The wild F is obsessed with style and power. Especially power. “We have an insatiable appetite for power,” says Hiddleston in Jaguar’s super Super Bowl ad. And where the E-Type was a smooth V12 wrapped in satin, the F-Type is a blunt V8 with all the subtlety of a ship cannon.
Sure, the base F-type starts at $65,000 with a dandy, 340 horsepower, supercharged V6. But the lead ship in this fleet is the 550-horsepower, V8-powered R-Coupe. You’ll know it by the four, cannon-like exhausts at the aft of the ship. Light the F off and you’ll trigger car alarms. For a minute you wonder if the Brits sneaked a Camaro SS engine under the bonnet. Rev it once at idle and you can’t stop. VROOM! VROOM! VROOM! And it gets better once you toggle the eight-speed tranny to “D.”
For maximum effect, select “Sportshift.” See ya’.
Stomp on the gas pedal — WAAAUUUGGGGH! — and the great cat bellows with delight. Under braking the pipes crackle like a July 4 fireworks show. What the F? Is this legal? Don’t you need a permit to make this much bedlam?
This heavy artillery comes courtesy of a direct-injected, Eaton-supercharged power plant that delivers 502 pound-feet of torque at 2500 RPM and just keeps hauling right to its 6500 RPM redline. The big cat is rated at 18 mpg fuel economy — unless you’re a speed maniac like yours truly who locks it in Sportshift mode using the helm-mounted paddles to maintain maximum spinal tap. Then you’ll consume half the North Sea’s oil reserves in an hour.
But that’s the beauty of the F. You don’t need to flog it to enjoy it.
This elegant animal purrs as sweetly as it roars. Toggle the “Eco” switch and the big cat will even go to sleep at stoplights, saving fuel. The interior is as comfortable as the royal box with leather stitching and heaping handfuls of carbon fiber accents. With its growling V8 and plush interior, the Jag seems to own its own niche in a world of 6-cylinder Porsches and expensive Audi R8s and Aston Martins.
Indeed, the F-Type reminded me most of the Corvette C7 with which it shares many attributes despite vastly different bloodlines. The Duke of Coventry, meet the dude from Detroit.
Maybe their customers don’t cross-shop, but they should. Eliza Doolittle has learned a thing or two from Henry Higgins. Consider: Both LED-lamped silhouettes are stunning in the moonlight. Both sport rigid, light-weight aluminum chassis. Both harbor throaty, big block V8s. And both feature comfortable, roomy interiors right down to dual climate controls and dual hand grips for the passenger (when their drivers want to explore the car’s .94 side-g limits). Even the tapered, fighter-jet greenhouses look similar.
But ’Vette will provide you all this for $10 grand less with 95 more horses and better fuel economy.
The two differ dramatically in design, however. The Stingray is knife sharp, the F-Type wave-smooth. The R-Coupe sits catlike on big haunches stuffed with 20-inch, multi-spoke, “Cyclone” wheels. Its sleek, pillar-less roofline is gorgeous — if tough on driver visibility due to massive fore and aft beams. A single, stunning piece of cold-formed, stamped aluminum makes the car’s side-panel. The shark-gilled grille will inevitably be found wanting compared to its E-Type forbear. But it commands respect in the rear-view mirror.
Unleash the beast on track and give thanks for big brakes.
Four-pot front calipers and massive, 15-inch rotors (eyeball-sucking, chest-caving, carbon ceramic discs are ahem, a $12 grand option) are essential to hauling this 186-mph freight train back to earth. Rotate the F into a corner and mind the mass — the R Coupe’s 3,671 pounds will move around. Nevertheless, the aluminum, Boron-riveted chassis is 80 percent more rigid than the breathtaking F-Type convertible that caused a jaw-dropping epidemic when it debuted a year ago.
“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers,” wrote Shakespeare. Yes, few will be able to afford the F-Type. But the rest of us can fall in love with a Jag again.
Henry Payne is auto critic for The Detroit News. Find him at email@example.com or Twitter @HenryEPayne.