Despite debuting over seven years ago, extensively refreshed in 2009 and nip/tucked again in 2011, the Acura RL remains a mystery. Flagship products usually sell in small numbers, but the RL is one of the rarest sedans in America. This isn’t exactly been a badge of honor for Acura. Overlooked by shoppers who flock to the cheaper Acura TL and largely forgotten by the automotive press (after all these years, TTAC has never fully reviewed the RL) With a full replacement due next year in the form of the RLX concept, I hit Acura up for an RL for a week to see how a flagship product from a major brand could manage to sell just 56 vehicles in Canada and 1,096 in the USA in 2011. For those who like statistics, the TL outsold the RL by 2,850%. Ouch.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Exterior

Like Audi, Acura believes in the “same sausage, different lengths” school of design. The RL’s form combines an angular nose with slab sides, a rounded rear and thankfully, (new for 2011) the most demure Acura beak available. While beauty is always in the eye of the beholder, I find the RL more attractive than the TL (even with the TL’s beak-reduction.) There is a problem however: the RL is only 1.7 inches longer than the TL and rides on a wheelbase that is only .9 inches longer. These identical proportions are only the beginning of the sibling rivalry. Nearly identical proportions aside, the RL has aged well and still strikes an elegant pose that is decidedly more exciting than the sedate Volvo S80.

Interior

Once you sit inside the RL, you begin to understand why the TL gets all the attention. It’s not that there is anything wrong with the RL, it’s just not as flashy. While the TL borrows from the European play book with an interior that could have been carved out of a single piece of black plastic, the RL goes for a more elegant two-tone approach. The only real feature differentiation between the RL and TL can be found in the optional real-wood trim and radar cruise control neither of which are available in the “smaller”  Acura.

Not all is peachy-keen inside however. Automotive interiors age faster than a powder-blue tux and the RL is no exception. Aside from the lack of stitched-dash-love, the fact that faux-tree is standard when even Lincoln gets their trim from the forest is a problem. Acura’s well-known love affair with buttons results in no less than 65 buttons (not including toggle or the joystick controller) within easy reach of the driver. Is that good or bad? I’m torn. Tell us what you think the comment section.

Infotainment

As a statement of how “ahead of the curve” Acura was in 2005, the RL’s 8-inch infotainment system provides all the features a luxury shopper could ask for, from voice control to full USB, Bluetooth and iPod integration. The problem isn’t the functionality, it’s the aesthetics. It’s like un-boxing a new PC only to discover it has Windows XP. It might be  just as fast as a model with Windows 7, and it will do everything you need - it just won’t look as snazzy while it’s doing it.

On the audio front, the Bose system is absolutely top-notch with a very natural balance, crisp highs and a wide dynamic range. Acura continues to push the rare DVD-Audio format in all Acura models. DVD Audio’s discrete 5.1 channel recordings do sound fantastic on the RL, but unlike some of the other luxury systems you can’t play video DVDs on the system at all. Good luck finding DVD-A discs as well. The RL uses Bose Active Noise Cancellation technology to cut cabin noise, while it wasn’t really possible to disable the system, the RL’s cabin is very quiet.

Drivetrain

Beating “sideways” under the hood of the RL is Acura’s ubiquitous 3.7L V6, good for 300HP and 271lb-ft of twist at a lofty 5,000RPM. 300HP may have been a selling point back in 2005, but in today’s luxury market, 300 is where things start, not end. The 3.7′s 271lb-ft is practically meager when pitted against the 350lb-ft cranked out by Lincoln’s Ecoboost V6, not to mention BMW’s twin turbo V8. Rubbing some salt on the wound, the TL’s optional 3.7L engine cranks out 5 more ponies. Ouch. Still, the MKS Ecoboost and S80 T6 are on the high-end of the competition’s scale which, more realistically, includes the GS350 AWD and the Cadillac XTS.

For 2011 Acura updated the RL with a new 6-speed transmission. The extra cog cut the RL’s dash to 60 by almost a full half second vs the 2010 model (5.9 as tested.) Mercedes may advertise a 7-speed automatic and BMW and Audi tout their ZF 8-speed, but let’s be honest here – the E350, 535xi or A6 3.0T don’t compete head-on with the RL. When you scale back the competition to the more natural competitors of the S80, MKS,  GS350 and XTS, the right number of gears for this crowd is six. The 2012 RL is now rated for 17/24MPG (City/Highway) which is 1MPG better than before. Over our 745 miles with the RL we averaged a middling 19MPG. In comparison, Cadillac’s XTS promises to be the most efficient AWD sedan in this size class at 17/28MPG.

Drive

It’s not the acceleration that makes the RL an interesting companion on the road, it’s the handling. Oddly enough, the nearly 4,100lb RL is a willing companion on the twisties thanks to Acura’s “Super Handling All Wheel Drive” system. The AWD system used by Lexus, BMW and Mercedes-Benz employs a traditional RWD transmission with a transfer case sending power to the front. In the GS350 AWD, the end result is massive understeer, excessive for even a large rear-drive luxury car. The XTS, MKS and S80 use a Haldex system, with an open differential in the front and rear and none in the center. Instead of a center diff, there is a clutch pack that can vary the mechanical connection to the rear. When fully engaged, the input shaft of the front and rear differentials are mechanically tied together. Acura’s SH-AWD system on the other hand is far more complicated. By making the rear wheels spin up to 5.8% faster than the front wheels, SH-AWD can essentially shift 70% of the power to the rear, and direct 100% of that rear-bound power to one wheel. If you want to know more about that, check out our video link.

The system’s ability to “overdrive”  the outside rear wheel in a corner makes the RL feel strangely neutral even when pressed hard. While SH-AWD is as close to a miracle worker as Acura can get, sales indicate that the snazzier AWD system isn’t a good reason to spend $6,000 more over the cost of a comparably equipped TL. What a pity.

The RL is perhaps one of the most forgotten and misunderstood vehicles of our time. Looking at the sales numbers, you’d think there was something horribly wrong with the RL. In 2011 only 1,096 RLs found a home meaning even the unloved Volvo S80 outsold it nearly 5:1 and the MKS bested it by 12:1. However, the problem with the RL isn’t that the Volvo, Lexus and Lincoln competition is more modern. The problem is the new TL with SH-AWD. With a thoroughly modern interior and electronics, the TL might have a less capable AWD system, but with a lower price tag it is no wonder it outsells the RL 31:1. Still, if you’re shopping for a $50,000 luxury sedan, the RL isn’t a bad choice, but the new RL couldn’t come any sooner.

Acura provided the vehicle, insurance and one tank of gasoline for this review

Specifications as tested

0-30: 2.31 Seconds

0-60: 5.9 Seconds

1/4 Mile: 14.4 Seconds @ 97 MPH

Even if the Acura TL SH-AWD 6MT were not a good car, it would still deserve our support as the only upscale midsize sedan available with both all-wheel-drive and a manual transmission in North America. Even BMW has vacated this space. You can still get the 5-Series with either all-wheel-drive or a manual transmission, but not both in the same car. If you need all-weather capability and ample space for four adults, but also want to row your own, the TL is it. So, what are you stuck with?

The 2004-2008 Acura TL was an astonishingly attractive car. There was nothing flashy about the exterior, but its athletic proportions, its angular (but not too angular) lines, its size—everything was just right. But then the Accord was super-sized, and took its Acura platform mate with it. At the same time, Honda had somehow received the message that its designs were too subtle. So the 2009 TL was cursed with bulky bodysides, pointy ends, and a chunky chrome cheese grater for a grille. A unique look, certainly, but also one with many vocal critics. For 2012 the pointy ends have been blunted and the grille genericized, yielding a blander exterior that, while still not likely to inspire lust, should at least blend safely into the crowd.

The 2012 TL’s interior received no readily evident changes. So the atmosphere remains high-tech and the materials semi-premium, roughly on a level with Buick and Lincoln. Ergonomics are first rate, with the secondary controls logically arranged and close at hand. Many functions are handled via a large knob mounted just ahead of the shifter—so close that I bumped it a couple of times while grabbing third. The instrument panel isn’t nearly as low or compact as those in classic Hondas, but the A-pillars are thin by current standards, the windshield rake and instrument panel depth are both moderate, and the view forward is open. The view rearward is compromised by the high tail and sweeping roofline, but this is typical of current sedans. The nav system includes a rearview monitor to aid in rearward maneuvers.

While other auto makers shape and space their front bucket seats’ side bolsters to fit the average NFL linebacker, those in the TL are shaped and positioned to actually provide lateral support for the average adult. Yet the thickly padded seats are also comfortable unless your posture is more upright than most, in which case the headrests jut too far forward. In the rear seat, knee room is plentiful and headroom sufficient for adults up to 6-2 or so. The shortcomings here: minimal toe space under the front seats and a cushion that’s a little too close to the floor. At 12.5 cubic feet, the trunk is small, especially considering the 194-by-74-inch exterior. And, as in other Asian upscale sedans, the rear seats don’t fold to expand it. The glove compartment and center console are similarly minimal.

Honda’s engine technology remains about a decade behind the bleeding edge, so there’s no boost and no direct injection. While even “nothing wrong with pushrods” GM finally coughed up the nickles for DOHC, Honda remains wedded to a Rube Goldberg valvetrain that connects the dozen valves in each head to a single belt-driven cam. So the valleys between said valves aren’t as deep as they’d optimally be. No matter. While 305 horsepower is on the low side for a modern, premium-burning 3.7-liter engine, the big V6 delivers where it counts, with strong, immediate responses and a song that gets sweeter the closer you get to the 6,700 rpm redline. Even without a turbo it’s possible to get to sixty in well under six seconds. GM’s, Ford’s, and Hyundai’s V6s might employ more recent technology, and Infiniti’s might be stronger, but the Acura powerplant sounds and feels the best in this bunch. But when you don’t want to hear the engine, you don’t. When cruising at highway speeds the exhaust, so throaty at full throttle, is barely audible. Despite a 3,889-pound curb weight and all-wheel-drive, fuel economy isn’t bad, either, with low twenties reported by the trip computer in suburban driving. (The EPA reports 17/25.)

Though not the engineering powerhouse it used to be, Honda remains the master in a few areas, and manual transmissions are one of them. Despite some softening in the car’s overall character, the TL’s six-speed shifter retains short throws that positively engage each gear with the direct, mechanical feel of a rifle bolt. Though clearly under pressure to cater to a broader market, Honda’s engineers drew the line here. The gear ratios are near ideal, with a short first gear then a minimal drop with each shift. While it would have been easy given the minimal sales potential to toss a manual transmission into the car and call it a day, someone clearly sweated the details.

The TL’s all-wheel-drive system, though largely unchanged since it debuted in the 2005 Acura RL, similarly remains the standard towards which other manufacturers should aspire. Perhaps if Acura’s marketers had coined a catchier trademark than “SH-AWD” (doesn’t quite roll off the tongue the way “quattro” does) the engineers would receive the recognition they deserve. While active rear differentials intended to provide all-wheel-drive cars with the feel of a rear-driver have become increasingly common, they often fail to make a substantial difference. Acura’s system goes a step further than simply shunting torque to the outside rear wheel—it actually spins this wheel a little faster than the others. Get on the gas through a curve, and the effect is readily evident. Like the best rear-wheel-drive cars, the TL can be precisely steered with the throttle. Despite the TL’s decidedly nose-heavy 58/42 weight distribution, underteer is minimal to begin with. With even a touch of acceleration it’s gone altogether. Press on and the chassis progressively transitions into oversteer.

And then you run up against the not-so-good changes. Last year the car was available with sticky 245/40YR19 Michelin PS2s. For 2012 these have been replaced with 245/40VR19 Goodyear Eagle RS-As that, according to the Acura flacks, “offer significantly improved performance in snow and ice.” What they also offer: much less grip and squishier steering feel on dry pavement. Adding insult to injury, the 19s are now only available together with a blind spot warning system and cooled front seats as part of the Advance Package, and this package is only available with the new-for-2012 six-speed automatic transmission. There’s now only one tire available with the manual: 245/45VR18 Michelin Pilot HX MXM4s. A touring tire, these readily (and loudly) give way when subjected to more than half of the capability of the drivetrain. Go for a quick corner exit, and the rear end rolls over into a mushy slide. If they were going to make only one tire available in conjunction with a clutch, it shouldn’t have been this one.

The aforementioned roll indicates that all isn’t quite right with the suspension tuning, either. The suspension is far from soft, with a somewhat lumpy, busy ride. The 2010 I drove a couple years ago felt harsher, but the suspension tuning supposedly remains the same so this is probably because the 2012 car is quieter. Bumps are still felt, but they aren’t so much heard. Despite this firm tuning, when pushed the car doesn’t feel as tied down or as precise as the best, partly because the body structure isn’t as solid, and body roll is especially evident at the rear end in hard turns. While the TL initially feels responsive and agile thanks to quick steering and the trick AWD system, push it and those inches and pounds make themselves known.

The 2010’s electric-assist system didn’t provide much in the way of road feel, but at least it had a heft commensurate with its quickness. For 2012 they’ve lightened the SH-AWD’s special steering calibration to, in the words of the press release, “generate a more relaxed on-center feel at normal road speeds— a steering feel that more closely matches that of the front-wheel-drive TL.” More relaxed? Try comatose. There’s now a dead zone on-center that, in combination with the quick ratio, makes it too easy to dial in too much angle. Even off center and at higher speeds the lobotomized steering never approaches its former firm feel. Some manual transmission intender asked for this?

If you want a 2012 Acura TL SH-AWD 6MT, then it’s going to list for $43,770. With the manual transmission the Tech Package (with nav and ELS audio) is mandatory while the Advance Package is not available. As mentioned in the intro, there are no direct competitors to this car. The closest match: an Audi S4, which has tighter handling but also a tighter interior. Equipped like the TL SH-AWD Tech, the Audi lists for over $12,000 more. Adjusting for feature differences using TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool narrows the gap to just under $11,000.

Don’t need the premium brand or the perks that attend it? Then (as some readers reminded me below) Subaru offers the Legacy GT (or at least did in 2011; changes for the 2012 haven’t been announced). The LGT with nav lists for $9,600 less, and adjusting for feature differences cuts this to about $6,800. There’s actually more room inside the Legacy, but the interior materials and driving experience aren’t what they were in the 2005-2009 car.

My criticisms notwithstanding, the Acura TL is a good car, even a very good car. If you need the traction of all-wheel-drive and a midsize interior, but also want to have fun, this is your car. Nothing beats a manual transmission for driver involvement, and the TL’s is one of the best. The highly responsive engine and chassis similarly encourage uncivil behavior. But the TL could have been a great car. The engine, transmission, and drivetrain carry the ball within a couple yards of the goal line, only to have the steering and tires promptly fumble it. With the 2012 revisions, Acura has tried to address the shortcomings of the 2009-2011 car, but it’s hard to see what they were thinking with these tweaks. The powertrain remains optimized for driver involvement, while the lighter steering and mandatory touring tires do a mushy 180 in the other direction. Tires, of course, can be swapped in an hour. With any luck, it’s also possible to have a dealer reflash the steering system with the 2010 software. So perhaps these changes for the worse can easily be reversed. But to put so much brilliance and sweat into the powertrain and then hobble it makes me wonder about Acura. Who do they think this car is for? Unless they’re trying to kill what remains of 6MT sales (and perhaps they are), they should pair the SH-AWD with tighter, more communicative steering and stickier, sharper-handling treads pronto. Marketers can’t identify the tastes of the target buyer? Just ask the engineer who fine-tuned the transmission or the one who dreamed up the trick differential what he’d like in his car.

Acura provided the vehicle, insurance and one tank of gas for this review.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta, an online source of automotive pricing and reliability data.

Here’s a mind game I sometimes like to play: imagine your car was destroyed by some horrible accident while you were away (e.g., Godzilla was in the neighborhood). To your good fortune, your insurance company gave you a sufficient settlement to buy a brand new version of whatever it was you were driving. Would you consequently buy that brand new car, or something else with the same money?

We’ve got a 2005 Acura TL, manual transmission + satnav, purchased new back in the day and currently with a modest 60K miles on the clock. It’s driven cross-country. It’s driven to the supermarket. It’s had parking lot abuse. It’s had toddler abuse. And it keeps on running. I had it in the shop recently for it’s “B2″ service (oil change, assorted air filters, and wipers: $230 — whee!) and to fix what turned out to be a busted power steering pump ($450 or thereabouts). Of note, the dealer gave me a chance to play my imagination game by loaning me a brand new 2012 Acura TL (automatic transmission, no satnav, no options at all). With one day of driving it around, here are my observations.

Several things have decidedly improved. The seats seem more comfortable and supportive, and the driver’s seat now includes a power lumbar bolster. The car suspension has radically improved (alternately, our 2005 TL’s has seriously degraded). On the cracked up, uneven streets around our house, the new TL is significantly more composed. You still feel the bumps, but you’re less worried that they’re going to destroy your car. It’s similarly better mannered on the freeway. This is a car you’d love to drive cross-country. Some of the smaller electronic gadgety bits have also improved. I’m happy to see a proper tire pressure monitoring system and an auxiliary music input for phones and whatnot. (I didn’t have time to see how well it does at integrating music from my Android phone via USB much less Bluetooth Audio, but the Bluetooth pairing process was painless enough and Bluetooth Audio (A2DP) is claimed to be supported, albeit with some debate as to how well.)

Like the 2005 Acura TL, several things are good, but still frustratingly not quite right. Freeway mileage is excellent and stop-and-go city mileage is an embarrassment; I clocked 31mpg highway and from 13-20mpg stop-and-go city — a marginal improvement on the freeway and a marginal downgrade in the city compared to what our 2005 TL gets.

The car has zillions of things you might like to configure, like what happens when you click the unlock button on your remote. Does it just unlock the driver door or the whole car? Many such settings are handled with the arrow buttons on the steering wheel and the tiny screen between the tach and speedo. That’s good. But, how about that giant selector knob with the huge screen above the center stack? It’s only good for changing the radio station and setting up the audio balance. Similarly, the Bluetooth pairing process can only be done via voice, which talks to you slowly. Very slowly. With modern in-car networks, you’d think they could do everything on the big central screen, making it easier, providing more help with options, etc.  Could they, should they centralize all these disparate systems, from no-doubt unrelated parts suppliers, to have a grand unified user interface? Could it be accomplished without reaching iDrive levels of incomprehensibility? For the 2005 TL, such thoughts would have been future fantastic. For the 2012 TL, such thoughts should be entirely achievable. Everything in the car is networked together. Make it so!

Frustratingly, several things have gotten decidedly worse. Foremost is the trunk. If you’re loading something heavy, you’ve now got a 10.5 inch lip to hoist your bags over, versus 7 inches in the 2005 TL. Why? Similarly, if you’re going to the airport, one giant wheely bag will fit without issue, but two of them? Good luck with those bumps on the floor. You can’t blame AWD, since this particular car is FWD. So, again, why? Also from the Department of Fail, you’d think they’d test a family car with family accoutrements like a booster seat. I’ve included a photo of my daughter’s booster seat. You’re supposed to run the seatbelt under both armrests. See the belt latch? It’s way around the back. The old TL was better in this regard, but stil not great. Why not have more slack in the belt latch? (Credit where credit is due: they significantly improved access to the LATCH anchors for younger kids’ car seats.)

Another concern is trying to park this thing into a tight space. The car’s beltlines are higher up and the car feels enormous. It’s notably trickier to park and maneuver in tight environs. Does anybody test these things? I’ll also insert a gripe about the ventilated seats (not present on my loaner car). If I read the options list correctly, it’s not possible to get a manual transmission and ventilated seats, at any price. Really? Do Acura engineers like sitting in a car with Godzilla barbecuing their backside? Do customers who want manual transmissions always wear Nomex racing suits? Hop in my car after a day outside in the Houston summer…

Cosmetically, I’m pretty happy with the new schnoz. It won’t win any beauty contests, but at least it doesn’t cry out for you to put it out of its misery. Also in the cosmetic department, they’ve redone the dashboard and center stack. The gauges are bright and readable, as always. Somebody smart said they should get rid of the blue halos around the old gauges. Somebody less smart decided to add giant fake-chrome rings around them, in a perhaps-confused nod at a Porsche 911. Please revisit the clean, spartan gauges of the previous-generation Acura TSX. No really, please do. Also, I’m baffled by the curvy/slashy lines inside the car. Has somebody been spending too much time looking at Frank Gehry buildings?

So, if Godzilla paid an unfortunate visit to my car and I hit the insurance jackpot, would I buy the new TL? Sadly no. But what? Does anybody make a car with a manual transmission, rear wheel drive, decent tech and luxury features, decent mileage yet good performance, good styling, and high reliability ratings? At any price at all? Yeah, fantasies never quite work out, do they?

Detroit has a long, sad history of self-delusion when comparing its cars to premium imports. Could you tell the difference between the Ford Granada and the Mercedes-Benz 280SE? Murilee’s take: people on ‘ludes should not drive. But what choice does Buick have? The Regal Turbo I reviewed a few weeks ago lists for $35,185. So they’d prefer that people not compare it to the Sonata 2.0T. Rather, the Acura TSX. And so, ever the agreeable reviewer, I did.

The first-generation Acura TSX lacked the striking good looks of the half-size-larger TL, but it was cleanly styled and wasn’t an unattractive car. The current TSX, with its chrome beak, chunky wheel openings, and fussy detailing? The surprisingly tasteful Buick scores an easy win here. The situation is much the same inside the two cars. The Acura’s cabin, with a faux tech vibe, generally seems less solid and more plasticky (though the door panels are nicely upholstered).

Acuras no longer have remarkably low instrument panels, but visibility from the TSX’s driver’s seat remains at least as good as in the competition. The windshield has a reasonable rake, and its pillars aren’t overly thick. The rear seat is tight and too close to the floor, but this is typical of the class. One place Acuras continue to shine: the front seats are aggressively bolstered yet are also very comfortable. Even though the Buick’s buckets benefit from four-way power lumbar adjustments (compared to two-way manual), they don’t compare.

For the Regal’s uplevel engine, Buick opted for a 220-horsepower turbocharged four rather than a V6. Rumor once had it that the second-generation TSX would similarly receive the RDX’s 240-horsepower turbocharged 2.4-liter four. But it did not. Instead, in its second model year it gained the TL’s 280-horsepower 3.5-liter V6. A V6 might not be fashionable, but it’s simply better. Especially this one. Responses are stronger and more immediate than with any turbo four, and a lusty soundtrack rivaled by few other sixes (much less any four) encourages frequent trips to the 6,800 rpm redline. Unfortunately, Acura’s excellent six-speed manual is not an option with the V6. The mandatory automatic transmission has an industry-trailing five ratios, but with so much engine to work with and an aggressive “sport” mode this isn’t a major disadvantage. Up two cylinders and down a ratio, the TSX V6’s fuel economy should suffer. But according to the EPA it slightly outpoints the Buick, 19/28 vs. 18/28.

Enthusiasts didn’t often buy the first-generation TSX because of how quickly it accelerated. Rather, they prized its handling. The current TSX has a smaller, sportier steering wheel than GM seems willing to fit to ANY of its cars, much less a Buick. Partly as a result, the TSX’s steering initially feels reassuringly firm and aggressively quick. But it’s all downhill afterwards. Despite its heft, the electric-assist steering isn’t communicative. Partly because 62 percent of the car’s 3,680 pounds reside over the front wheels, understeer arrives early and builds rapidly. Suspension tuning is supposedly firmer than in the base TSX, but it’s still considerably softer than in a TL SH-AWD. So there’s also quite a bit of lean in hard turns. The first-generation car’s tight, precise feel is more present in the Buick.

Though there’s still some tire noise on concrete, the TSX V6 is quieter inside than past Acuras. The quality of the noise that intrudes generally supports the premium branding—the TSX sounds more upscale than the Regal. But, while the TSX V6 filters out pavement irregularities better than the fidgety TL SH-AWD, the Regal rides better still, especially over larger bumps.

Acura charges dearly for the V6: it lists for $36,010. The Technology Package (nav, upgraded audio) adds another $3,100. TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool indicates that, when both cars are similarly equipped, the Buick Regal Turbo lists for about $5,500 less—nearly the same amount the V6 and its attendant plus-one wheels add to the Acura’s price. This is somewhat justified, as the Regal’s acceleration falls closer to that of the four-pot TSX.

Nevertheless, the V6, nice as it is, costs too much. Another $3,705 will get you into an Acura TL SH-AWD. The larger sedan’s torque-vectoring all-wheel-drive and firmer suspension much more effectively transfer the V6’s power to the pavement and induce grins on the driver’s face. And, if you want a manual, one is offered. For enthusiasts, the TL SH-AWD is the clear choice among Acura’s sedans. For non-enthusiasts, what’s the point of the V6? Same as in the Accord and Camry, I suppose. But American drivers increasingly realize they don’t need the extra cylinders to safely merge onto the freeway.

Ultimately, no mind-altering substances were needed to legitimately compare the new Regal to the Acura TSX. The latter feels stronger and more responsive with its optional V6, but the Buick is priced against the four. The Acura also has better front seats and quicker steering, but in just about every other area the Buick does at least as well, and often better. Most notably, the Regal handles more precisely, rides with more composure, feels more solid, and is easier on the eyes.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t only reflect how good a job GM did with the Regal. Acura’s strategy over the past two decades has been to take whatever qualities led people to buy its cars—and eliminate them. The Integra and Legend nameplates? Gone. Tasteful styling? Communicative steering? Faultless ergonomics? Gone, gone, gone. The glorious V6 and supportive front seats remain, but for how much longer? If Acura had instead built on its early successes, the target posed by the TSX would have been higher.

Suburban Acura in Farmington Hills, MI, provided the car. They can be reached at 248-427-5700.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta, an online source of automotive pricing and reliability data.

The MDX was the first luxury brand crossover to offer three rows of seating, and Acura was rewarded accordingly. For its tenth model year the second-generation MDX has received a refresh. But is there enough here to maintain Acura’s position in an increasingly crowded segment?

Much of the Acura MDX’s exterior remains the same with the 2010, with the front end receiving the most noticeable changes. With the 2007 Acura introduced its first highly controversial front end. The grille opening was largely filled with a faux-metal shield that no other Acuras received. Instead, their grilles have sent owners in search of especially large blocks of cheese in need of grating. For 2010 the MDX’s shield has been replaced by the cheese grater. A pair of chrome-ringed openings have also been inserted in the upper half of the bumper, above the gray fascia that houses the fog lights. The overall effect, also found on the related ZDX, is more aggressive than the previous nose, and it looks better here than on Acura’s cars. The rest of the exterior remains clean and well-proportioned, it’s only fault being a lack of distinctiveness.

If there have been any changes to the Acura MDX’s interior for 2010, they aren’t readily apparent. A mild high-tech vibe continues with the various metallic trim bits, countered a bit by the wide band of faux wood that spans the dash and covers the top surface of the center console. The wood at least looks real. The metallic plastic looks and feels less than premium. Sadly, the interior door pulls, the first point of contact when getting into the car, are composed entirely of the stuff. The switchgear might be good by the standards of a decade ago, but the target has been moving upwards. The overall fit and finish of the interior (or lack thereof) is clearly second tier among premium brands. The door-to-dash panel fit is downright awful.

Even GM’s interiors are more tightly and precisely constructed lately, and the new SRX looks and feels much nicer inside than the latest MDX. Then again, the SRX also costs quite a bit more. The MDX probably competes more directly with the Buick Enclave, which it continues to lead in interior quality.

The best thing about the interior: the front seats. Large and amply bolstered, they provide both comfort and lateral support to such a degree that I wonder why so many front seats clearly make tradeoffs between the two. The driving position provides very good forward visibility and doesn’t place the various controls too far away. A wide center console contributes to a somewhat sporty ambiance, but might leave larger people wishing for more space.

Putting three rows of seats inside a 191.6-inch long vehicle tends to compromise rear legroom and cargo room, and this is certainly the case in the MDX. Legroom in the comfortable second row is adequate, if not outstanding. Adults won’t want to spend much time in the third row. But then most people will use it for kids, anyway. There’s less cargo space behind the third row than in longer competitors. So when traveling families with have to either pack very light, fold the third row, or add a rooftop luggage carrier.

Beyond-sufficient power continues to be supplied by a 3.7-liter V6 that sounds a little less sporting and a little more truck-like than the related unit in the Acura TL. Honda has yet to announce its first direct-injected engine for the U.S. market. The big powertrain news with the 2010 MDX: while other luxury car makers are introducing seven- and eight-speed automatics, Acura is introducing its first six-speed. Remember when Honda was a powertrain innovator? Since it’s so late to the party, hopefully the new six-speed is at least solid. Honda’s past record with transmissions for its larger vehicles has been spotty. Time will tell. The new transmission’s shorter first gear (14.3:1 vs. 12.2:1 when multiplied by the final drive) translates into more punch off the line. The top gear overall ratio, little changed, makes for an EPA highway rating of 21. What could a taller top gear do? The quicker, heavier 2011 BMW X5 manages 25.

When I drove the 2007 MDX three years ago, with the optional auto-adjusting shocks set to “Sport,” I thought it handled well for a 4500-pound crossover. Partly because I drove the base model this time around, the 2010 felt large, with excessive understeer in hard turns despite the trick SH-AWD system and a disjointed overall feel that borders on clumsy. Here as with the interior I felt as if I were driving a domestic car from five years ago. The steering, overly light at low speeds, never provides much feedback. Other manufacturers have been making major improvements in the handling of their large crossovers, and Acura has some catching up to do.

With the standard, non-adjustable shocks the ride is less floaty than with the optional shocks set to “Comfort,” but still absorbs pumps pretty well. The problem here is a traditional one for Honda: road noise. There’s more of it here than in the typical luxury crossover.

Pricing for the Acura MDX is commensurate with its interior ambiance. You’ll spend much less for it than any three-row crossover wearing a European badge—even a Volvo XC90 V8 (the base I6 doesn’t provide competitive performance) lists for about $6,000 more. But the MDX seems little if any more upscale than a Buick Enclave or even a top-level Mazda CX-9. The Buick is priced about even with the MDX, but the Mazda is about $5,000 less than either, based on comparisons run using TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool. Both the Buick and the Mazda provide more space in both the third row and for cargo behind it. And yet both also handle better than the more compact Acura.

Overall, with the 2010 refresh Acura hasn’t done enough to keep the MDX competitive. The Acura brand image calls for tighter, more precise handling. The interior ambiance positions the Acura between the mainsteam and luxury brands rather than as one of the latter. But then the pricing isn’t at luxury brand levels, either. The third row seat is a match for those from BMW and Volvo, but cannot compete with those from Buick and Mazda. IN the end, we have a good vehicle for people who want a slightly upscale vehicle with an occasional-use third row. People who want a crossover that handles especially well, that has a truly luxurious interior, or that can handle six people AND their luggage will be better off elsewhere.

Michael Karesh owns and operates TrueDelta, an online source of auto pricing and reliability data.

Remember the ’86 Acura Legend Coupe, the definition of elegant muscle? Or how about the ’97 Integra Type R, the weekend racer you couldn’t break? These were Acuras that inspired passion, joy, and a special place burned into my long-term memory. Even though it’s been 24 and 12 years ago respectively since I drove these high points for Honda’s luxury brand, I remember them like it was yesterday. In contrast, I drove a TSX V6 a mere three days ago, and already my primary remaining impression of it is a longing for those Acuras of yesteryear. And my memory isn’t even that bad.

I’ve always liked Acuras. At least the idea of them. I don’t demand rear-wheel drive and V8s in my sport luxury cars. I appreciate the Honda work ethic, attention to detail and sense of assurance. The difficulty is, if you like them, you go to the dealership and wonder where they are. The TSX V6 is the perfect example. It’s a Honda Accord with a pretentious snout and three-times the buttons.

The interior is Steve Jobs personal Hell. Every necessary button comes with an average of four attendants. I stopped counting at five thousand.Things  look very nice inside, in the current black and silver style, but nothing generates a ‘wow’. Nothing generates a ‘where’ or ‘what’ either, so I shouldn’t complain.

Ergonomically, everything is pretty much at or near where you’d guess it would be. Every switch and knob feels firm but pliable, like a good assistant or yoga trainer. Which is what luxury’s all about in the end.

Based on the European Honda Accord, the TSX exterior design is more crisp than its underlings. Cues like the hip crease are tense and sophisticated, but overall Acura’s design language has a limited vocabulary. There is not enough to give this car – the whole line, really – distinction. There is nothing terribly wrong with the TSX, it’s just not as attractive as, well, everything else in the class (the Lexus ES being the only possible exception.)

On that pretentious snout rests the Acura crest, a stylized caliper, signifying the company’s devotion to engineering. It is rightly placed over the hood. This is where the discipline shows. The V6 is new for 2010, offering the TSX’s first-ever step up from the four-cylinder. The 24-valve, single overhead cam with variable valve timing puts out 280 horses and 254 pound feet of torque. This is not insubstantial. The engine revs freely, effortlessly and on an easy to understand path. And there’s no shortage of grunt, despite the 3700 pounds.

The five-speed automatic transmission is equally attentive. As opposed to many competitors, this one is a worthy dance partner, never falling behind or stepping on the wrong cog. Downshifts were on time and correct, without the three-blind-mice effect, bumping around in search of the right gear. The automatic clipped to the four-cylinder actually achieves better gas mileage than the manual.

The V6 also comes with enhanced steering, which feels like they added a couple of clock weights to the standard electronic set up. The result is more satisfying than the over-juiced wheel in the base TSX. It is not better, just heavier. Heavier has a shorter learning curve which makes me wonder if I’d get used to the lighter settings, adapt my driving, and not care after a while.

One thing is certain: the brakes aren’t stopping potential buyers in their tracks. They are simply not as good as most of the competition. While not unsafe, they lack the precise feeling and sheer stopping power this drivetrain deserves.

The fact that the suspension is decent makes the inferior brakes even more disappointing. The car’s roll is minimal, keeping you fairly flat, without making your fillings fly out. The car is waggle free. Combined with the frictionless engine and alert tranny, the TSX is hardly short on fun.

But neither are the Audi A4, BMW 3, Mercedes C, Infinity G, Cadillac CTS, Hyundai Genesis, Volvo S80 . . . All of which have more personality in one department or another. The TSX is a conservative entry in a broad market segment. So while the car is not bad, it fails to stand out against a dozen direct competitors. And I’m probably forgetting some . . . Oh, right, the V6 Honda Accord, this car’s fraternal twin.

The suspension is assembled from the same components (albeit a tad softer.) The engine lacks a mere eight horsepower, though for that compromise your gas mileage climbs by two (city/highway average.) Though nearly identical in exterior measurements, the Accord offers six more cubic feet of cabin space. It might not be of the useful variety, but that’s not the point. It’s eight grand less (our tester stickered at $38,881) and, in many respects, it’s better.

The TSX’s luxury appointments are just that: appointments. The guts are too similar and style too tame. If you’re fond of Hondas and have more money than you used too, buy a V6 Accord, swap out the tires for a stickier set and donate the remaining six and a half Gs to your favorite charity. You’ll be better off, the world will be better off and maybe, in the long run, it’ll help make Acura better. Till then, thanks for the memories.

Some vehicles are doomed from the start. Take the Acura RDX: a not-inexpensive CUV with aesthetically challenging looks nestling amongst Honda’s “Huh?” brand. The RDX seems carefully designed to appeal to the few, the proud, the pistonheads. You know: enthusiasts who absolutely must have a willing engine, a chassis that’s a suitable dance partner and the elevated driving position of SUV—all at a price that’s significantly higher than more sensible (if dull) alternatives made by brands whose street cred didn’t die with the Integra. You see how that doesn’t work?

The RDX shares design cues with every other Acura, done in bizarro-land supersized fashion. Like Toyota’s not-a-RX Venza, Acura’s not-a-CR-V tries hard avoid the whole chubby, tall station wagon thing. And fails. The RDX’s front is this awkward beastette’s best viewing angle, especially when compared to the hideous snow shovel prow blighting its brand brethren. At the other end, the RDX’s unnecessarily projecting rear bumper gives the Nissan Quest a run for its money in the “Saggy Bottom of the Year” award. It’s the sort of ugly that makes Subaru owners stand just a little taller.

The RDX’s interior sports strangely rubbery leather on most of the interior surfaces, with shiny faux-metal (or faux-shiny metal, hard to tell which) sprinkled about. A disgustingly plastic steering wheel that looks like it was lifted straight off a Honda Accord (but wasn’t) does the CUV’s upmarket aspirations no favors. Compared to standard brands, it’s a cut above. Compared to luxury marques, it’s the cruelest cut of all. The rear seats and cargo space are small for one so large. The trunk’s odd shape puts the “ewww” in “utility.”

As for luxury features, Acura abides by a strict don’t ask, don’t give policy. The technology package gets you the sort of stuff other luxury players have done for years, and there are no features to set it apart from any other maker. The voice recognition is a nice trick, especially since trying to find the right button to change anything will drive you insane. And like all Acuras, the RDX has impeccable safety ratings.

The RDX’s raison d’être—at least for those “in the know”—lies under the CUV’s hood. Honda put a turbocharged 2.3-liter four-banger therein. It’s everything you ever wanted to drive . . . in any other chassis. Push the RDX’s go-pedal and the mill sings like a fine Italian tenor, gracefully swooping its way through the rev range. Tip-in and acceleration are tightly regulated and perfectly balanced. You don’t feel like you’re driving a two-ton vehicle; the car feels a lot faster than it is.

The RDX sits on a bespoke unitized body; so it’s not so big, it’s just tall (that’s all). With independent McPhersons up front and a multi-link out back, the RDX handles like a Honda sedan through the corners. Relatively small 18″ wheels help the ride quality; the all-season shoes do not. Net: a bit of a rough ride around town. Net net: there’s a disconnect between luxury interior and pavement crashing, but Acura probably reckons the RDX’s sprightliness and handling prowess justify the compromise.

So explain this glaring omission from the sports-sedan-on-stilts gestalt: a manual transmission. The RDX’s gearbox does a fine job of picking its shift points, so you won’t miss rowing the boat too much—unless you’re one of those few people who knows how to drive a manual transmission. The RDX’s automatic can be manually shifted, but it’s joyless and quickly abandoned. In compensation, the RDX’s shift knob fits in your hand perfectly, as if reassuring pistonheads that it’s not that bad. But it is.

But wait! There’s less! I mean, more. All that power and weight yields punishing gas mileage. While the RDX is EPA rated at 17/22 mpg, user-reported mileage is far lower, and does not improve much after break-in. Not that I blame the users; I’d probably drive the RDX like I stole it too. Otherwise, what’s the point? And why not? Gas is (comparatively) cheap right now, and I like warm summers.

Back in October, Acura dealers couldn’t give the RDX away; you could buy a brand new example with all the trimmings for about $30K. And no one is buying now, either. Economic uncertainty, the prospect of skyrocketing energy costs, and a lack of overall value conspire heavily against this heavyweight.

Few cars leave me with such mixed feelings. The RDX’s engine and handling are the best you’re going to get short of the best you can get from the SUV set, but the brand’s invisibility, the CUV’s lack of practicality and efficiency, and the depreciation all steer you in a different direction. ANY different direction.

What I want is the RDX’s engine and AWD system in a 3,200lb car, not a 4,000lb tank. God only knows why Honda refuses to give us a properly turbocharged Integra replacement and hands us this instead. Wrong answer.

Once upon a time, I mistook an automotive journalist for a member of ZZ Top. After a proper introduction, L.J.K. Setright subjected me to a twenty-minute lecture on the Euro-Accord’s five-spoke wheels. He was deeply offended by the fact that the lug nuts didn’t line up with the spokes. I got the message: people who truly understand and appreciate engineering excellence are wrapped WAY too tight. And yet, the desire for a meticulously designed automobile transcends geekery. The market rewards over-engineering– or at least the aura of over-engineering (cough Mercedes cough). In that sense, the Acura brand is not without inherent appeal– despite the TL’s inability to live up to the marque’s upmarket aspirations. Which is a fancy way of saying the TL is an epic fail.

You don’t need a degree to reach that conclusion. Let’s put it this way: when a buff book says a car’s looks are “a matter of personal taste,” you know it’s Medusa-class ugly. Personally, I don’t find the Acura TL’s smiling snow plow prow grossly objectionable. Not like, say, a maggot-ridden squirrel carcass. The TL’s snout is a bit… ungainly. Like a confused squirrel before it gets run over. The TL’s central crease– an over-literal interpretation of “cutting edge”– is just plain silly. The car’s profile shows the design team how it should have been done. It’s subtle, elegant and vaguely European; a striking differentiation from the mass market machine with which the TL shares a platform.

Yes, there is that. Suffice it to say, there’s more than aesthetically challenged sheetmetal to separate the sibs. The TL offers a few extra inches of lebensraum here and there. The TL’s materials are also suitably luxe, except for the buttons, which are not. (L.J.K. would have had a conniption over the power outlet cover’s herky-jerky sliding action.) The TL’s meaty steering wheel and hooded dials are the cabin’s finest hour. But there’s no disguising the fact that there’s no “there” there. The TL is as generic as a blank box of Kleenex.

Lurking within the TL’s all-too-familiar interior: enough gizmology to annihilate the car’s resale value in ten years or less. I mean, mandate an hour-long handover and at least five post-purchase phone calls. I’m slightly skeptical about some of the toys’ utility. Why would I want to burn CDs onto a built-in hard drive when I can just plug-in my iPhone? The more I use voice recognition systems the less I use them. (Although I’m always amused by a car’s answers to life’s big questions. What’s the meaning of life? “XM channel 18 on.”) And if I can upload ten images to wallpaper the nav screen, why can’t I create a slideshow? Or can I? GPS-linked climate control? Real-time power distribution meter?

Ah yes, power. A 3.7-liter V6 powers the top spec (of the two) TL. With 305hp and 273 lbs.ft of torque on tap, the TL makes a powerful case for itself as a performance sedan. In theory. In reality, the TL’s engine is a sonic affront at anything less than 5000rpm. Whiny. Tinny. Cheap. Although the TL’s five-speed autobox has a class-leading ratio spread (how’s that for a boast?), it’s a couple of bolts short of class-compliant silkiness. Traditionally, steering feel is a Honda/Acura strong suit. In this case, the electric variable power-assisted helm is, as the Brits say, pants. The TL’s brakes are effective enough, hauling the porky four-door down from speed with fade-free confidence. But the stoppers are numb in both initial bite and subsequent modulation.

Ask any Lexus driver: a novocain nature is not the worst thing that can happen to a car. Which is why the TL’s suspension is such a shock. Literally. As far as I can tell, K Mart supplied the Acura’s independent double wishbone (front) and independent multilink (rear) components. The TL’s 18″ wheels and all-season rubber crash and thump over the slightest imperfection. At city speeds, the TL feels nervous. Jumpy. Cheap. It’s an unforgivable sin for a car cresting the $30k mark.

The only possible justification for a ride that reminds me of the last gen GT-R: super handling. While the all wheel-drive part of the TL equation keeps the Acura planted, the two-ton sedan feels more like an oak than a willow through the bends. Worse, the seats don’t offer enough bolstering when you get stuck in. The TL’s sweet spinning six delivers a lovely grinding growl at maximum revs, but there’s only one situation where the TL feels the equal of a BMW 3-Series. No wait, there isn’t.

As L.J.K. would tell you, a well-engineered car adheres to a coherent philosophy. By trying to be everything to everyone, the TL is nothing in particular to anyone, save expensive. Back to the drawing board, then. Next time, start with the wheels.

The Acura TL is like the brainy girl in math class. If you’d told your friends you had the hots for her, they’d have stifled laughs, paused and said “who?” Since the turn of the century, the Accord-based Acura TL has been the deeply sensible alternative to premium-priced imports. But the TL’s fans knew the joys of stealth smarts: a super-smooth six powering a superbly-crafted cabin sitting atop a well-built and reliable chassis. So, will channeling the spirit of Frank Lloyd Wright help or hinder the TL’s ongoing quest for luxury car legitimacy?

I’m convinced that the TL’s designers held a séance with the Prairie School architect, discussed organic architecture, hit the crack pipe and emerged with “Keen Edge Dynamic.” Sure, Acura has finally cured the TL’s aesthetic invisibility. But at what cost? Viewed dead-on from the rear, the TL’s creased butt looks like a Cars character, complete with mouth (Aura-like trunk strip) and eyes (rear headrest). It’s weird, true and freaky.

And then there’s the front…

The TL’s new snowplow snout will have your eye out, and transfer traces of satin chrome paint flecks in the process. Some west coast Acura dealers are painting the power plenum prow the same color as the body for a more, uh, understated look. No surprise there.

The ‘09 TL has received the obligatory dimension creep, upping overall length six inches and increasing track over an inch at both ends. Somehow, this engorgement hasn’t delivered significant increases in the TL’s interior space or overall weight. Blame it on the over-collegenated bumpers.

The TL’s cabin will look familiar to anyone who’s seen the new Accord (odd that). Ablaze with blue accent lighting and the standard Acura button central center console, Acura’s given all the well-situated controls a facelift. In a nod to Audi, the TL holds the interior’s pants up with a silver-sheen belt that dashes its way around the midline before plunging like a twisted thong into the center console. Unfortunately, the fauxcarbialuminumfiber’s pores are so big even Proactive polyfilla couldn’t smooth them out.

The tech package is the bread-and-butter option of Acura’s bread-and-butter saloon. The champagne GPS head-unit has been upgraded from DVD to a hard-drive based system, rewarding TL loyalists with quicker loading and a sharper screen. Even ADD-afflicted technophobes can enjoy easy access to almost every computer-controlled function, including the TL’s signature kick-ass ICE and dual-zone air conditioning.

AcuraLink has new zones in its database. A Doppler radar function lets you play on-the-road prognosticator or gives you a three-day forecast while listening to the modern equivalent of quadraphonic: DVD-A. (Dark Side of the Moon and The Nightfly need apply.) And once you program the TL’s voice command system, you can live life button-free.

Keyless start has been added to the already impressive Keyless Access System’s list of duties. It’ll unlock doors, position the driver’s seat and outside mirrors, select audio and navigation settings and calls you Mother on a weekly basis, all without taking the key out of your pocket.

Ordering an Acura TL is still McDonald’s happy meal easy. Pick a color; add the optional technology package to the front wheel-drive base model and Acura throws in the other toys “free.” Done. At least until the Super-Handling All Wheel Drive (SH-AWD) option arrives. And it can’t arrive soon enough.

The TL’s trick six-cylinder engine rises from 3.2 to 3.5-liters, setting loose 280 horses and 254 ft. lbs. of torque. Fuel economy stays the same, despite the extra power and weight. And it’s the right answer for snow-belt dwelling consumers. On the downside, the sweet-spinning six redlines alarmingly quickly, with the front end squirming like a bag of squirrels from the git-go. Acura claims to have reduced torque steer in first and second gears, but it felt more like (or, like more) traction control to me.

Acura slipped the TSX’ new electric steering system into its stealth flagship. Turn-in is precise and predictable at urban speeds, but road feel is reduced. At higher speeds, the weighting applied feels artificial and unintuitive. This is not your father’s Buick. But it could be yours.

I kid. A bit. Aside from takeoff squirm, the TL’s chassis remains composed and confident. The stoppers are powerful, and there are airbags aplenty. But the TL lacks the chassis chops, the joie de conduire, to compete with the Germans; its arrow-shaped snout is now aimed squarely at Lexus.

Again, the SH-AWD system could well be the TL’s ace in the hole. For an extra $3500, the system will undoubtedly make far better use of the six’s extra thrust. If so, the question then becomes, why opt for the more expensive RL? And when the RL gets the V8, the question becomes, why buy a TL? The answer, of course, is rooted in household economics, and the economics of comparison shopping. Not passion. New look or not, there’s your problem with Acura.

Evaluating the Canadian-designed, built and sold Acura CSX without mentioning the Honda Civic is no easy task. (See?) Comparisons are so tempting, namely because the latter is an excellent car in its own right. The feeling’s mutual. Honda of Japan loved the Acura CSX so much that it served as a template for the JDM Civic. And why not? The CSX delivers an excellent compact luxury package without the reliability issues bedeviling certain (cough German cough) imports. Said otherwise, the CSX is the penny-pinching—I mean, thinking man’s luxury compact.

Seen from afar, you’d be forgiven for thinking the CSX and the Civic ARE the same car. Given its resemblance to its platform mate, the CSX is a perfect spiritual successor to the Civic EL of yore. My tester’s CSX’s exterior upgrades included chrome wheels and door handles, Acura rims, double exhaust and a re-styled front fascia with the all-important Acura badge. Fortunately for the CSX, the humble Civic’s rakish styling plays well even in the semi-luxury market, giving the car a sporty stance without reducing interior space

The donor Civic’s good genes are also apparent across the interior. Acura preserves the Civic’s futuristic double-decker dashboard and small, deep steering. (Honda drivers who don’t get the whole Star Wars thing need not apply.) On the list of what feels the same: the shifter, parking brake, arm rests, steering, thigh support, and storage areas. Get the idea? The major differences are easy to spot. The Acura’s manumatic comes with flimsy, thin paddles mounted on the steering column. Though crisp and responsive, they feel cheap and demand hand placement at exactly nine and three.

Acura swapped-out the Civic’s plain Jane HVAC set-up for an all-controlling screen and voice-activated satellite navigation, which dominates the minimalist instrument panel. Gloved Canadians may curse the unit’s Chicklet-sized buttons, but they’re sensibly-placed, suitably smooth operators. The Acura’s leather front seats are heated for cold Canadian cabooses. The CSX’s rear seats are spacious; easily as comfortable and commodious as the ones found in the previous generation Accord. Provided you have no more than two car chairs in the rear, the CSX is the Goldilocks of family cars.

The CSX is blessed with a 2.0-liter I4 good for 155 HP. RSX owners know this engine well; the mini-mill revs smoothly operates in tight harmony with the automatic transmission— obviating the need for those cheesy paddles. That said, the wheel-mounted cog swappers are quite satisfying, with very little delay between tap (of the finger) to blip (of the engine) to take-off. Though adequately refined and propelled, the CSX’s accelerative performance isn’t class leading– not by a long shot. The MINI Cooper, Volvo C30, BMW 128i and Audi A3 2.0T all have it outgunned. Not to mention the similarly-priced Civic SI. D’oh!

On the road, the CSX’s chassis’ tuning is the automotive equivalent of the Missouri compromise. The ride’s too harsh for the Lexus crowd, and too soft for the BMW crowd. But it works (for a while). The CSX doesn’t mask any of the road’s imperfections, but does a capable job of reducing most of them to the level of minor nuisance.

Put the CSX through its paces at a normal speed and you’d never think it’s really an econobox wearing a silk suit. There isn’t enough torque or power to make the drive wheels matter. The CSX offers up a healthy dose of sportiness, carving into turns quite happily and with minimal body roll when driven reasonably. Leave the realm of reasonableness (in pursuit of that VTEC cam switchover, perhaps) and the car will betray its roots faster than Pamela Anderson on safari. The unrelenting understeer will make one pine for the better-tuned Si. For a comparable experience, the CSX is only slightly less crisp than the Mazda3/Volvo S40 siblings. That is to say it’s excellent for its price point, but not a selling point.

Given Acura’s failures to follow Lexus and Infiniti up the food-chain, Honda can take the Acura CSX as its consolation prize. By steadfastly refusing to ante-up and offer purpose-built luxury cars with V8’s, Acura’s U.S. sales have been evaporated. Now, Honda finds itself with an excellent, fuel-sipping luxury car built in the NAFTA zone ready to go stateside with minimal delay.

At only a $7k mark-up over a regular Civic, given its appointments, the CSX represents tremendous value. In a time of ballooning gas prices and shrinking wallets, it may be just what the doctor ordered to restore Acura’s sagging U.S. sales. Canadians have made whatever Civic-variant Acura the hottest seller for the premium brand since the days of the EL. Whether the CSX will ever go stateside, though, depends on Honda’s ever-changing aspirations for its luxury brand. But I can’t see it doing any more damage to a brand that never moved beyond “mid-luxury” in the first place.

The last TSX's sheetmetal was as neat and tidy as an OCD's tie rack. The new model is as ugly and confused as a meth addict living under a highway overpass. The TSX's profile is just plain hideous, complete with Mercedes S-Class-style over-blistered wheel arches and Grandpa's belt line. Every detail has a strange shape. The TSX's trapezoidal grill is smiling, angry-eyed Pokemon. The doors and door handles are disco ball-styled with some 30 different surfaces.

Prior to seeing this car's exterior, I thought some of these shapes were only theoretically possible. Not to put too fine a point on it, it looks like Acura hired an inebriated M.C. Escher.

The interior is worse. While the button-laced steering wheel is slicker than the hair on the sorority girls that will be driving it, the center console is an ergonomic disaster zone. There's no design per se, just hidden buttons adrift in a Black Sea of more buttons. That said, they're all well-marked. If you have reading glasses and don't mind taking your eyes off the road to play button, button, where the Hell's that button, you're good to go.

The TSX's polymers are corporate parts bin in quality, but there are huge panel gaps, coral-sharp edges, misaligned pieces of trim and some fauxluminum that looks like it came from the Chinese factory that cranks out the fenders for the 1:24 70 Chevelle™ Baldwin Motion Plastic Model Kit. But hey, the TSX's gauges are handsome and clear. Oh, and did I mention that this diminutive, svelte-bottomed writer found the Acura's entry model cramped in both the front and back seats?

By now, the odds are in Acura's favor, right? Surely the Euro-style driving experience which glorified the previous iteration will make up for "Why Did You Think You Can Dance?" aesthetic and functionality missteps. Hint: nope. If you drove and loved the previous TSX, you'll want to drive over to the Discovery Channel. Specifically, the Myth Busters demolition department.

The TSX's steering is now "electric motor drive." To laypeople, that means "Oops. We meant to put that Novocaine in your mouth, not your forearms." The helm's too light, and there's no feedback, except for occasional bursts of torque steer. For a vehicle that used to boast razor sharp steering, this is a great leap backwards. The car's handling and cornering are perfectly adequate– which puts the TSX painfully middle of the pack. It's a disappointing descent to mediocrity.

The official press release paints the Acura TSX as some kind of high-tech commuting professional car. So why is the double-wishbone (with rear multi-link) suspension is abusively harsh and jarring, and noisy to boot? The target demographic drink expensive coffee. In the TSX, they will be wearing expensive coffee.  

The TSX's powertrain is new model's sole bright spot. The 2.4-liter four-cylinder is as smooth and refined as a V6. It puts out enough horsepower (201) and torque (170 ft. lbs. @ 4300 rpm) to motorvate the Acura from rest to 60 in a none-too-thrilling 7.7 seconds. While that's on par with similarly-powered competitors like Audi's base A4, so what? Equally disappointing (given the lack of thrills involved), the autobox TSX's offers 21/30 mpg. That's only slightly better than the V6 Accord's 19/29.

And what ABOUT the Accord? The TSX is tagged at $2500 more than a comparably equipped (i.e. four-pot) Accord EX-L, rewarding oxymoronic stealth badge snobbery with a whopping 11 horsepower and a logo that would flummox a Jeopardy contestant. Or, for $200 less than the TSX you can drive off the Honda lot in a loaded 268 horsepower V6 Accord. And that's just in the Honda corporate stable. You could fill an entire 800-word article with "better cars than the Acura TSX that cost around $30k."

But really, the 2009 TSX doesn't suck because there are better choices. It sucks because it's ugly, the interior's cramped, the steering's awful, it's no fun to drive and the suspension is laughably loud. And okay, a little bit because the last TSX was so much better (which now becomes a legend, so to speak). Honda needs to put the right people back in charge of their supposedly upmarket brand before it becomes a total irrelevance. Or, in this case, after.

The Integra may be a bit wedge-shaped for fans of today's suppositorial supercars, but it's both distinctive and attractive- a combination that eludes most of today's automakers. If only Subaru could learn from the Acura's quirky yet tasteful circular headlights. The [optional] rear spoiler is, of course, entirely useless. But it balances the car's appearance, adding just the right touch of Zen-tinged Japanese aggression. If you want practicality, the hatch is it. Make that IT.

Inside, the Integra is your garden variety Honda. With proper love and care, the Integra's interior stands the test of time– assuming you can stand the squeaks and rattles that develop. (Alternatively, you can replace the stock radio with Sony ICE with Bowel Mover Bass Booster.) The Integra hatch's rear seats are nominal, but the front chairs are high and mighty, providing excellent visibility (if none of that Italian astronaut thing) inside a widescreen greenhouse.

Generally, the Integra's ergonomics are ideal; there's a reason the NSX supercar's cabin offered a cantilevered riff on the same theme. Of course, no one buys the ‘teg for its looks or the cabin's fit and finish. They buy it for the engine. Twisting the key reminds you of the car's core appeal: a perfectly tuned four-banger.

O.K. we need to be clear about the meaning of "perfectly." There's not a lot of horsepower about. The second USDM Integra ('90) stabled just 130 horses. By '93, it rose to… 140, and stayed there. It must also be said that even the '97 Integra's 1.8-liter, DOHC powerplant has less torque than a Kobalt 38" reversible drill. We're torquing 124 ft.-lbs. @ 5000rpm.

But those early Acuras ain't got much mass neither. (Look ma! No airbags! No traction control!) The second gen Integra weighs-in at a featherlight 2560 lbs. (three-door manual) or 2703 lbs. (four-door manual), climbing to only 2672 lbs. in 1997. And the revs top-out at either 6500 rpms or a startling 8000 rpms (GS-R).

A non-VTEC second gen ‘teg will sprint from rest to sixty miles per hour in 7.9 seconds. The GSR trims a half second from that time. On paper, meh. In real life, an unmodded Integra is the dictionary definition of zippy ("nippy" being PC poison these days). In fact, the engine's Oliver Twist's dream caregiver. "Please sir, may I have some more?" MORE? ABSO-DAMN-LUTELY!

The Integra's five-speed manual gearbox is equally laudable, dishing out deliciously short, satisfying, flick-your-fingers shifts. And you can keep at it forever. I met an Integra owned by a clueless gear-grinding n00b with 100k miles on the clock (the car, not the owner) still equipped with the original clutch (ditto). Replace the Integra's timing belt every 90k miles and Bob-san's your uncle. 

Despite the Integra's mechanical integrity and longevity, there's a reason you rarely see someone over the age of 30 driving one. I'm not saying the Integra's a hard-riding car, but there are more pliable diamonds. The aforementioned squeaks and rattles are an entirely logical reflection of the punishment delivered by the Integra's independent double-wishbone suspension, with coil springs and stabilizer bar (front and rear).

There are plenty of suspension "upgrades" available, but they tend to make the ride quality worse, not better. And that's because sharpening the Integra's suspension transforms the Integra from a handgun into a laser-guided missile. Not to put too fine a point on it, aside from the post-Integra Mazda Miata/MX-5, Ye Olde Acura is truly one of the best-handling cars money can buy. If you don't know how much fun a front wheel-drive vehicle can be, and can't afford a Golf GTI, the line forms here.

Speaking of tight budgets, thanks [again] to its light weight, a manual non-flogged, non-modded Integra (RS/LS/GS) gets 25/31 mpg. The GS-R racks-up a [theoretical] 24/29 EPA mpg.

For pistonheads on a budget who like track days and don't mind saying "there goes another filling" on a semi-regular basis, the Acura Integra is a perfect used car. It's a steal (literally), it'll run forever, and when you do get some cash, there are hundreds of performance mods for sale, from turbos (good luck with that) to fake Type-R badges. Or is that the other way around?

And when you're ready to take your chiropractor off of speed dial, well, you COULD become just another insurance statistic. That said, Integra owners would never dream of such perfidy. Seriously. Never.

The Acura TSX is nothing more than a Euro-market Honda Accord Type-S with the Acura calipers affixed to its grille, trunk lid and steering wheel hub. It’s badgineering at its best/worst. But as I threaded my test TSX through the Oakland hills, snicking its six-speed with thumb-and-forefinger flicks, teasing the magnificent motor’s 7100 rpm redline, the car’s quiet urgency quelled any bitching about bloodlines.

Stylistically, the TSX is all Acura. Parked next to its step-up siblings, the Japanese uber brand’s family resemblance is unmistakable. The TSX stares you down with the same squinty, clenched visage as the TL. It sports similarly crisp, wedgy bodywork. Compare this sensual sheetmetal sleight of hand to Mercury’s efforts, where the products wear varying expressions of surprise (Montego), malice (Milan), and torpidity (Grand Marquis), loosely united by their splashy waterfall grilles.

Most badge jobs stumble fatally at the second hurdle; they try to cover their trailer trash genetics with miserly applications of upmarket switchgear and gussied up dashboards. The TSX’ Euro Accord’s cabin shares virtually nothing with its cheaper, chubbier U.S.-spec cousin. Thanks to the TSX’ shorter wheelbase and narrower track, it offers a far cozier and more intimate workspace than the Accord.

Perched atop hip-hugging seats, TSX pilots survey a lean, understated instrument panel rendered in pliable polymers. A narrow ribbon of aluminum highlights its contours, flowing seductively from one door panel to the other. The TSX’ cabin appeals to both Type A and B personalities; anal retentives will marvel at the budget luxury ($28k msrp) while slackers will get off on the svelte surface grains and subtle switch clicks.

Bargain pricing relieves the TSX of any obligation to drive as well as a BMW 3-Series. Which is just as well, as it doesn’t. Without turning a wheel, the TSX’ front wheel-drive configuration cedes the dynamic game to BMW. Speed demons would also do well to remember that the TSX is built on an Accord Type-S, not a Type-R.

That said, the TSX’ road manners are not without merit or, shall we say, “fun.” Most Hondas and Acuras are “low-fat” cars: poised, light on their feet, breezily responsive to control inputs. The TSX expresses these familial genes. But it also turns the screws down just a bit tighter, while dialing up refinement. The result is more reassuring than it is involving, but the TSX’s switchback savvy is undeniable.

Much of the TSX’ confident nature stems from its steering. While it can’t match the 3-Series’ pointiness or tactility, the TSX’ tiller is quick and expertly-weighted with virtually no slop through the bends. There’s also no torque steer to challenge directional stability. Why should there be, with no torque?

Gutless, rev-happy fours are another Acura hallmark, established by two decades of Integratude and RSXedness. The TSX’ 2.4-liter mill is muffled and refined to anonymity at everyday revs. Less wonderfully, it never feels as strong as its 7.2 second zero to 60mph time suggests. Some adrenal adventurers will enjoy reaching for the 7000 rpm power peak; others will wonder why they didn’t try to swing the payments on a V6 TL.

Never mind. Who needs torque when you’ve got the sweetest shifter this side of a Honda S2000? The TSX’ interface’s action is as oily as a Buick salesman and as precise as a Leicaflex. No rival– front-wheel-drive or otherwise– plays snick-or-treat like this transplanted Honda. (Anyone opting for the optional automatic should know that the little “D” stands for “dull”).

And speaking of sensible, the TSX’ lineage guarantees a bounty of prosaic pleasures. Spacious, well-lined trunk? Check. Prudent fuel economy? Check. Reliability? Red dot at the ready. Talk about a peace [of mind] Accord…

Fortunately for Acura, the company’s badgineers enjoy a unique advantage over Detroit’s denizens: you can’t diss the heritage of a brand that doesn’t have any. That said, while Acura may not struggle with the historical baggage weighing down Lincoln, Mercury, Chrysler, Saturn and other platform pimpmeisters, it still lives or dies by its products’ inherent appeal. Accord or no, the TSX ticks all the right mass-market boxes.

So, Detroit boffins and beancounters, repeat after Acura: “I will only capitalize on overseas products IF I can maintain stylistic and tactile continuity to the brand for which it stands. I will not seek solely to enlarge my brand’s lineup, but to enrich it.” In other words, the TSX is proof positive that badge engineering needn’t be a bilious bean counting bonanza. Hey, who knew?

The rivet counters amongst you will maintain that the redesigned MDX is 2” longer and .5” wider than the outgoing model. True; but it’s also nearly 3” shorter (without sacrificing ground clearance) and only 46 pounds portlier (a 1% increase). My unscientific conclusion on this weighty matter: the MDX’ mass has been reapportioned but not materially increased. Anyway, standing pat makes perfect sense.

Unlike other midsized SUV’s, the MDX never pretended to be anything other than a tall street rod. In 2007 garb, Acura’s puddle plugger takes another stylistic step away from its [theoretical] off-road roots. The designers ditched the wheel wells’ Jeepish trapezoids for something more rounded and refined. Following this fall’s trend in CUV couture, Acura blackened the C-pillars and widened the D-pillars at the top, creating an aerodynamic downward sweeping arc of sidelights.

The MDX’ new streetwise face closes the outgoing model’s gaping open-mouth bumper, and pushes the fog lights lower and wider.  Two dimpled metal chevrons frame the Acura logo. Up close, they appear surprisingly like ornamental cheese graters. From a distance, they make the MDX front end look like the head of a giant Remington MicroScreen electric shaver – ready to trim unsightly hair from America’s highways. 

In typical Acura fashion, the MDX’ dashboard is infested with gizmology; from a 10-speaker Dolby music system that plays every post-tape audio source extant, to a sat nav system that tells you how to avoid traffic to get to your Bluetoothed reservation at a Zagat-approved restaurant. Unfortunately, swoopy swaths of pseudo wood flank the center dash’s geewhizzery. At least, I think it’s simulated wood grain; the dark, grayish, black-banded pattern that looks like the floor of a garage after brake cleaner has been sprayed on dirty disks.

The MDX’ eight-way power adjustable heated memory front seats and reclining rear chairs are elegant, comfortable and at least as supportive as an AA meeting. The Acura’s middle row is equally accommodating, offering plenty of knee room for two. The MDX’ two-plus-two arrangement relegates spare brats and unlucky (reviled?) adults to the way back. Accessing this kiddie-only cavern requires all the flexibility of youth, and most of the contortion skills of a Cirque de Soleil performer. Any buyer depending on the MDX’ third row note: when your third child hits eight, it’s time to move on.

Pistonheads will no doubt be tantalized by the MDX’ 3.7-liter V6’ three hundred horses (enough equines to feed a French village for six months). Needless to say, Honda (for it is they) have fettled the Hell out the MDX’ mill, tweaking it with VTEC, a dual stage intake manifold and high flow exhaust system, magnesium cylinder head covers, drive-by-wire throttle, etc. The result is a smooth spinning powerplant whose peak power and 275 ft-lbs. of torque arrive at 6000 and 5000 rpm respectively.

But the normally aspirated engine’s impressive output and refinement are hamstrung by the SUV’s bulk. Despite the aforementioned weight control measures, the MDX tips the scales at more than 2.5 tons. Both performance and efficiency suffer. The SUV fails to plant you in your seat when you put the hammer down; zizzing from rest to 60mph in 7.5 seconds. The EPA’s ever-optimistic prognosticators foretell 17/22mpg.

The MDX’ handling almost makes up for its pusillanimous ponderousness. To that end, Acura honed the new MDX’ handling on the Nürburgring. It was worth the trip. The MDX offers both exceptional poise on surfaced roads and velvety smoothness over life’s bumpy imperfections. When push comes to shove, the MDX’ really rather Super Handling All-Wheel Drive pushes the weighty beast through corners by rotating the outside rear wheel faster than the other three. An optional Sport Package enhances control with stiffer front and rear sway bars and an Active Damper System that battens down or softens the ride according to driving conditions. 

Bottom line: the MDX takes corners astoundingly well for a hulking SUV. Leaving us with a relatively slow, relatively graceful luxury car on stilts. While Acura is to be commended for adding more of everything to the MDX– luxury, performance, handling and safety– without bulking-up, someone needs to remind me again why extra ride height and SUV style is worth sacrificing a good 25% in average fuel economy over say, an Acura TL. Oh right, the third row. Perhaps Acura isn’t the only one who should try not to add weight to its existing family, or accept the Odyssey ahead.   

Until it ceased production this summer, the Acura RSX was an upgraded seventh generation Civic coupe. To differentiate the two models, Acura’s brandgineers gave the RSX a lower and wider stance than its Honda counterpart. It also blessed the RSX’ snout with a vertical crease, bisecting the model’s nose from bumper to windshield, forming an aerodynamic point. The model’s steeply raked windshield starts an arc that terminates down the rear of the steeply raked rear window. The lift back design reveals the RSX for what it is: a longish three-door hatchback. Overall, the RSX’ clean and uncluttered looks lacked both brand identity and charisma, a lethal combination (ipso facto).

Once inside, Steve Jobs himself would applaud the RSX’ no-brainer ergonomics. The car’s curved dash pod is blissfully, elegantly Spartan; free from the infestation of dials and buttons, bells and whistles that clutter most new cars. You get three Playskool knobs for your climate control, a few glove-friendly radio buttons for your BOSE blaster, a hazard switch and that’s all she wrote. Also delightfully absent: in-dash GPS, car phone, onboard computer and all the other electronic tchotchkes that distract enthusiasts from the art of driving.

The top of the RSX’ dash is lined with a substance of uncertain origin called “textured titanium.” While the dashboard’s clothing isn’t particularly attractive or sporty-looking, props to Acura for deploying a material that hasn't [apparently] been pumped from beneath Saudi sand or peeled off the butt of a dead cow. The front seats hug driver and passenger. The rear chairs are inescapable invitations to experiment with yoga; anyone taller than five feet will find themselves craning for comfort. I can’t imagine that many RSX buyers are overly concerned about cargo, but with seats up, the Acura can stash more stuff than a Mitsubishi Eclipse or Scion tC.

A suave demeanor and a thick Russian accent masked the enthusiasm of my Acura guide, Serguei. But his love for the coupe became evident the moment he hurled the RSX through a cloverleaf interchange. (He may not have many RSX left to sell, but sell them he does.) Once we made the changeover, the RSX’ thick steering wheel inspired immediate confidence. The variable power assist rack-and-pinion steering is razor sharp, delivering precise information on the front hoops, and outstanding control of same.

The coupe’s light curb weight (2734 pounds) and sport-tuned suspension (McPherson struts in front, double wishbone at the back) give the RSX superb flickabilty. The car stays flat through the corners, yielding moderate and predictable understeer when pushed. Yet the progressive-rate rear shocks float over small bumps without harshness, with the all-season 16’s delivering daily driver compliant comfort.

That said, there is no question whatsoever that this is the high-strung member of the Acura family. To wit, the RSX’ 2.0-liter engine produces 155hp @ 6500rpm. That may be as nothing to the Type-S’ sky-high 8100rpm redline, but caning the RSX involves regular forays to the iVTEC powerplant’s penthouse. Meanwhile, torque steer is virtually non-existent; there’s not enough torque to pull the helm sideways. In other respects, the RSX' smooth-spinning mill is impressive in the typical Honda fashion, achieving Low-Emissions Vehicle (LEV-2) standards while traveling 27 miles per gallon in the city and 34mpg on the highway.

The RSX’ brakes are its biggest disappointment. The four-wheel disk ABS-controlled binders tell the right story on paper. In practice, they struggle to get the job done. Under emergency stops, the left and right ABS channels do not appear to be synchronized, creating a disconcerting Jitterbug vibration. Pistonheads would be well advised to factor-in the price of a major brake upgrade when considering an RSX.

As is, the RSX is the perfect car for a driver that wants a sports car without a lot of horsepower (e.g. unmarried people that gravitate to careers that involve chalk and erasers, white shoes or telephone headsets). Rumor has it that the RSX may not be the last Acura to dabble in the sub-$30k segment. Although nothing has been officially announced, only a couple of model years are likely pass before Acura produces another small coupe. Acura is sure to festoon any new model with a raft of techno-baubles that blight the TL, which were artfully absent in the RSX. Until then, RSX RIP.

The RDX Crossover Utility Vehicle (CUV) is one inch longer and a fraction wider and shorter than its German inspiration. Stylistically, the RDX is only a nip-tuck away from the baby Bimmer. The RDX’ steeply raked windshield, blackened B and C-pillars and tailgate spoiler all say BMW– and signal the Acura’s shared distaste for the rough stuff. The RDX is, in fact, another deeply metrosexual machine: a handsome manly form attired in delicate garments, whose manicured toes are meant for polished wingtips, not hiking boots. If you know what I mean.

Inside, Toto, I get the feeling we’re not in Bavaria anymore. The RDX’ cabin offers the all hushed minimalism we’ve come to expect from Honda’s upmarket homonyms. In fact, the CUV’s attention to tactility– from the meaty steering wheel bulges at the ten and two positions to the sensually shaped leather shift knob– takes us deep into Audi territory. That said, you can take the Acura out of Japan, but you can’t take the Japanese out of the Acura. The RDX’ three-ring gauges’ red-on-blue lighting strikes just the wrong note of Japanese spizzarkle. And the RDX’ climate control/media center shares Infiniti’s predilection for a high and mighty backwards tilting dash position.

The RDX’s traffic aversive satellite navigation system is voice controllable– which is just as well. The widescreen display is difficult to read in daylight, especially when the future's so bright you're wearing shades. The nav system and on-board computer are controlled by a distinctly phallic nubbin protruding through the center of the dash. Despite the gizmo’s indelicacy, its intuitive ergonomics put BMW’s iDrive to shame (as if it needed any help in that regard). As is the norm for this “so not an SUV” genre, cargo storage space is sacrificed on the altar of passenger comfort. Drivers with longer legs will find lots of room for their stems in either the front or rear seats, which provide much-needed lateral support.

The RDX is propelled by a turbo-charged 2.3-liter four-cylinder powerplant producing 240hp @ 6000rpm and 260 lbs-ft of torque @ 4500rpm. The much ballyhooed variable flow turbos keep the engine spinning at low revs, but it’s still not enough. The engine must climb above 3500rpms before it can get its boogie on. Fortunately, like all the best Honda power plants, this baby loves to twirl, redlining at 6800rpms. To keep the mill in the grunt zone, the RDX’ brushed-aluminum accented steering wheel (all the rage this year) sports F1-style paddle shifters. Unfortunately, the steering is a little slow; cornering tends to put the paddles out of reach.

Should you be so churlish as to engage in a little stoplight sprinting, the RDX makes the zero to 60 dash in a shade less than eight seconds. That’s respectable acceleration for a vehicle that weighs one Labrador retriever less than two tons and stands nearly 5’5” tall, but you’ll pay the price at the pump, diminishing the official 19/24 EPA mpg by a considerable margin. Worse yet, the new RAV4 V6 will best the RDX to 60 by more than a second.

A mid-day tear through the winding hills of Irving, Texas proved that Acura’s taut front strut / rear multilink suspension makes their cute ute feel light and tight– until you come to a corner. There’s no masking the leaning tower of SUV effect, or the vehicle’s tendency to nose-dive during hard braking. Acura’s Super Handling All Wheel Drive (SH-AWD), Vehicle Stability Assist and ABS systems conspire to keep the RDX’ wheels firmly gripped to the pavement, despite all the leans, pitches, rolls and yaws. For what it’s worth, the RDX is the best handling Crossover in its class. 

The RDX goes head-to-head against the similarly sized and priced fraternal twins, the Nissan Murano and Infiniti FX35, and the aforementioned BMW and RAV4. The RDX out-luxuriates the Nissan and Toyota, but still seems a little austere compared to the BMW and Infiniti. It straightens corners better than the others but has the least amount of straight line oomph.

Thanks to its superb build quality and [optional] mind-blowing surround sound, mp3-compatible stereo, I can’t imagine anyone sitting in an RDX, regretting purchasing Acura’s X3 knock-off instead of the “real deal.” Still, as I walked away from the RDX, I was left longing for a vehicle that holstered that sweet-spinning turbo four in something shorter, lower and lighter. Something like the Acura RL. Sometimes it’s best to just copy yourself, and call it good.

Although the Acura MDX is a platform partner with both the Honda Pilot and Honda Odyssey, casual onlookers will scarcely place the MDX on the same family tree, let alone branch. Unlike Ford's chrome-reliant Mercury division, Honda didn't opt for the easy route to affluence. Up front, Acura's designers sanded away the Pilot's bluff prow and pulled the MDX' sheet metal into a beak, complete with projector headlamps book-ending a narrow, wing-shaped grille. They also opted for a more severely raked windshield and sloped backlight. By sacrificing utility for style and aerodynamics in pursuit of a more car-like aesthetic, Acura has done an admirable job avoiding the vehicular "parent trap."

Inside, there's little indication of the MDX's shared origins. The interior is dominated by an instrument panel tastefully-rendered in quality warm-toned plastics and reasonably convincing faux burl wood. LED backlit gauges please day and night, and soft-touch switches govern all the gewgaws expected at this price point. In our 'Touring R&N' model, most all of the usual sybaritic suspects were present and accounted for: rear-seat DVD, power memory seats, XM, Bluetooth, satellite navigation, back-up camera, the works. Gas-discharge headlamps are the option sheet's only glaring omission. And, as in the Pilot, a telescoping steering wheel is notable by its absence.

The MDX' electronic gubbins are controlled by the most intuitive interface extant. Making liberal use of well-designed touchscreen menus, the system rarely leads drivers astray. While the interface facilitates the manipulation of certain higher audio and HVAC functions, it doesn't rule such systems absolutely– let alone require one of those hateful i-Drive style multi-function knobs. Said another way, you can pump-up the dB's and crank-out the BTU's without being reduced to fumbling through layers of GUI.

The MDX's sole powerplant is Honda's familiar aluminum 3.5-liter V6. On a weekend jaunt to Ohio's Amish countryside, the SUV's 265 ponies never failed to make quick work of the two horsepower buggies lurking over every hill. Its well-sorted ride delivered us to Time Warp Country with admirable comportment; saddle leather seats ensuring that our own hides remained fresh at journey's end. Better yet, the clever flat-fold second and third row seats proffered a commendable amount of stowage space… perfect for toting home inadvisable quantities of handcrafted curiosities and untold wheels of cheese.

Sadly, the county's abundance of well-groomed, serpentine tarmac revealed the Acura's inability to satisfy the enthusiastic driver's thirst for pleasure. Make no mistake: the MDX is even more car-like than the already domesticated Pilot. While the MDX's ride and handling was consistently up to snuff, never once failing to negotiate turns with dignity and grace, it simply didn't want to play. There was no goading wail from its dual box-tipped exhausts. No close-cropped seats clamping torsos in place. No sport-oriented rubber facilitating the occasional burst of accelerative exuberance. No meaty steering feel to help guide the beast through the twisties.

If you carry some speed into a corner, the MDX's Vehicle Stability Assist and all-wheel-drive system quickly put the kibosh on any seat-of-the-pants gratification. It's also unfortunate that Honda doesn't offer one of its slick manual transmissions. At least the MDX' five-speed slushbox is as well-behaved as it is in the Pilot, slurring undetectably no matter what the engine load. Although a bit more braking feel would be welcome, the MDX' electronic brakeforce distribution-governed stoppers are both consistent and reliable.

All of which strike as sensible compromises given the legions of soccer moms and cell-toting suburbanites that gravitate towards this type of vehicle. But as with too many of Soichiro's other products, the MDX ultimately slakes rather than excites. Handling limits and general refinement may be ratcheted up few notches from the (already capable) Pilot, but this is a luxo-barge SUV, pure and simple. Well-heeled adrenaline junkies should look elsewhere. But consumers swayed more by accoutrements than acceleration are advised that the comfortable, reliable, smooth-riding MDX correctly answers Acura's $10,000 Question.

Anyway, I wasn't the only car hack to flatten the battery. And the thing is, the $50k RL can't afford such a basic misstep. Acura's "I-swear-I'm-not-a-bling-Honda" is competing deep inside Caddy, Merc, Bimmer, Audi and Lexus territory. As BMW learned with its iDrive You Nuts debacle, any luxury car that makes you think too much starts from the back of the pack. A car that won't start, well…

After a quick defibrillation, I hit the slopes. The slippery stuff couldn't flummox the Acura's Super Handling [if they don't say so themselves] All-Wheel Drive. The system sends power from back to front or left to right, depending on which wheel or wheels need traction. In other words, an RL has an arrow-like ability to keep heading where you point it. Unless, of course, you head for some ice, boot it and throw the steering wheel hard over; at which point the RL will drift sideways with the best of them.

That's big fun, but it's beside the point. The RL is made for imperious wafters. Or is it? The design doesn't say luxury car to me. While the rear angle and side profile are reassuringly sedate, the car's nose is a disaster. It's too small for the RL's frame, poorly positioned, badly angled and over-creased. What's more, the car's squinting headlights and lower grill make it look like it's sniggering at someone who just fell down. Empathetic Europhiles need not apply.

From inside, the RL's ugly snout isn't much of a problem; the windscreen is so steeply raked you can't see the hood. For those who find this TV screen driving perspective disconcerting, the digital 5.1 surround sound audio system provides ample distraction. On the other hand, maybe it's best to keep your eyes on the road. The RL's multi-layered dashboard is an unsightly farrago of curves, angles, materials, textures, displays, typestyles and switchgear. The steering wheel's thin rim is a particularly egregious example of the RL's failure to pass the 50G taste and tactility test.

On the positive side, the Acura's cabin seats four large adults in reasonable comfort, and comes equipped with every toy known to carkind: sat nav, real-time traffic info, voice recognition, Bluetooth compatibility, heated memory seats and dual-zone climate control that automatically adjusts the fan speed according to the sun's position (determined by optical sensors and the onboard GPS positioning system). You can even press a button, call OnStar and ask them how it works.

What the Acura doesn't have is a V8 engine. The RL's V6 churns out 300hp– enough oomph to push the two-ton sedan from zero to 60mph in an entirely useful 6.7 seconds. You can switch to semi-auto mode and use the wheel-mounted paddle shifts to hold the gears for extended urge. Even so, the RL's sweet-spinning six is like bringing a knife to a gunfight. At this price point, customers expect the unruffled progress provided by a powerplant with two more cylinders. If nothing else, the RL sounds unduly stressed at anything more than partial throttle– even though it isn't.

In fact, you can hustle an RL without breaking a sweat. The hard-riding suspension will go all floaty-drifty if pushed, but there's enough body control to accommodate an enthusiast in a hurry. By the same token, the RL's brakes lack feel, but slow the car with real conviction. The rack and pinion steering is over-assisted, but still manages to keep you abreast of handling events as they occur. And that Super-Handling stuff really is the biz, facilitating some seriously squirrelly maneuvers.

Taken as a whole, the RL is an aesthetically-challenged gizmo-lover's Honda with admirable road manners– unless you drive it at night. Then, suddenly, it all comes together. The RL beckons with gently glowing door handles, welcomes with blue light in the foot wells and cossets with leather and air. The active noise cancellation creates a hushed atmosphere, the switchgear stops shouting and the car's well-sorted dynamics offer perfect poise. Gliding through the gloaming, the RL is its own man: cool, calm, collected and… debonair.

With a V8 engine, a nose job and an interior makeover, the Acura RL would give BMW's 5-Series a decent run for the money. Meanwhile, fixing the key slot would make a good start.

What a shame. While Toyota's Lexus has firmly established itself as a distinct and worthy competitor to Germany's finest, Acura is still trying to convince the world that an Acura is more than a Honda with a slightly bigger engine, leather, wood and a few toys. Which, in this case, it is. Anyway, given Honda's impeccable engineering and build quality, there's nothing particularly wrong with this "Acura as a posh Honda" product perception. But there's nothing particularly right with it either—especially when cachet (a.k.a. "snob value") sells cars in this segment.

The TL's exterior highlights Honda's struggle to raise Acura's game. Its designers have done everything possible to separate the Acura TL from its donor DNA: narrowed headlights, split front spoiler, indented swage line, raised side skirts, five-spoke alloys, rear lip spoiler, dual exhausts and sharper rear lights. The end result is… a Honda Accord with a bit of Alfa Romeo 156 thrown in. It's not a displeasing design, but it isn't terribly classy or, um, bling.

The TL's interior, by contrast, is both. High end materials have Cinderella-ed the Accord's cabin into a comfort zone as sharp as a Chanel suit— worn by Missy Elliott. Check out those hooded, backlit blue dials and glowing key slot. Safe! And if that's not massive enough, pop in a DVD-A and crank up the 5.1 Surround Sound. Yes, the new format means you have to buy all your favorite music again. But the TL's eight-channel audio attack easily justifies the re-re-re-investment. Until BOSE unleashes its own DVD-A system (with better bass response), Acura's boom box is about as good as it gets. If not better.

I wish I could say the same about the TL's driving dynamics. The trouble began the moment I slotted the test car's five-speed auto box into Drive. Er, Neutral. Wow! Who would have thought that Honda – sorry, Acura – could come up with a shift gate that rivals BMW's iDrive for counter-intuitive complexity? Once I figured out why I was going nowhere fast, I was free to explore the TL's heart and soul: its engine.

Honda makes some of the world's best engines: smooth, powerful, tractable, free-revving, frugal and clean. The TL's V6 powerplant is typical of the breed. Although the 3.2-liter engine stumps up only 30 more horses than the Accord's [optional] six, it's noticeably punchier throughout the rev range. The TL's two hundred and seventy horses (fed on Variable Valve Timing) fling the car from zero to sixty in a fraction under seven seconds– provided you can find a way to coax and baby the go pedal at the same time. Otherwise, you're right back where we started: Wheel Spin City.

To its credit, Acura's boffins have attempted to mitigate the problem with Vehicle Stability Assist and an electronic traction control system. No dice. In a straight line, the TL's nose squirm is annoying. Around corners, it's positively alarming. The defining handling characteristic of this pretender to the mid-sized sports sedan throne is neither understeer nor oversteer; it's no steer. Press-on drivers will need both sensitive hands and nerves of steel.

Bummer. Everything else about the TL's set-up is superb. The double wishbone front and rear suspension allows just the right amount of road feel, without a hint of discomfort. Four-way disc brakes combine consummate linear control with serious stopping power. (The six-speed manual adds Brembo brake calipers up front.) Overall body control is exemplary. Granted, the TL is not a focused sports sedan in the 3-Series sense of the term. But if Acura had bitten the bullet and built a rear-wheel-drive TL, I reckon it could have given Munich's medium-sized meisterwerk a decent run for the money.

Ah yes, money. For value-driven buyers, the fully equipped Acura TL is a steal. It offers quality, reliability and every conceivable luxury for thousands less than anything else in its class, and much above. For the rest of us, the TL is maddeningly close to greatness. Luckily, it's only a matter of time before Honda/Acura follows Detroit's lead and converts its premium products to rear wheel drive. When that glorious day arrives, Acura will prove once and for all that it's ready to play with the big boys.