When Chevrolet’s seventh son generation Corvette was introduced, many purists reacted with horror over the fact that the new car no longer has what has been traditional on Corvettes since the C2 in 1963, two round tail lights on each side. “The new ‘Vette has Camaro tail lights!” more than a few said. Though if you look at both the 2013 Camaro and the 2014 Corvette rear lamps side by side, the main similarity is that neither one of them is round. The Camaro’s are trapezoids and the Corvette’s are more parallelogram shaped. Tom Peters is in charge of design at General Motors for full size trucks and performance cars. Something that  Peters talked about on the night of the C7′s reveal and now emphasized in a video he made for Autoweek, the three dimensional shaping of the new Corvette’s tail lights, has me thinking that it wasn’t the Camaro’s back end that influenced the new ‘Vette, but rather it was the tail lights of the current Mustang.

Click here to view the embedded video.

One feature that distinguishes the latest refresh of the Ford Mustang are the deeply contoured tail lights and the way the lighting accentuates the three dimensional shape of the lamps. Matt Hardigree waxed ecstatic over them when the 2013 Mustang was first exposed in late 2011.

Car designers are a trendy bunch, in both directions. They set trends, but then they also follow them too. That’s how we get styling fads and cliches. Designers not only notice the same things that the rest of us notice, they also notice what exactly the rest of us are noticing. Their bosses notice that too.

Peters was responsible for the exterior styling on the current Camaro, but if you look at the tail lights on the current model, other than being recessed into the bodywork, the red lenses have very little three dimensional shape themselves. In the video he says that the design team wanted to take advantage of “depth of sculpture” opportunities when it came to the tail lights, as they’d done on other parts of the car.

The Mustang may have started a trend towards tail lights with more actual shape. Perhaps the Corvette team took that concept. If they did, they ran with it. The Mustang’s lights have one layer of depth, a recessed panel that lights up when the brakes are activated and the surface tail lights, which are flush to the rear panel. The Corvette’s tail lamps have a bit more complicated shape

In any case, I see only a vague family resemblance between the lights on the Camaro and those on the new Corvette. If designers, and their bosses, are as trend following as I think they are, we’re going to be seeing more and more three dimensional tail lights.

To see the “depth of sculpture” of the new Corvette taillights, the image above is a “cross eye” stereo pair that you can view in 3D without special glasses.

Ronnie Schreiber edits Cars In Depth, a realistic perspective on cars & car culture and the original 3D car site. If you found this post worthwhile, you can get a parallax view at Cars In Depth. If the 3D thing freaks you out, don’t worry, all the photo and video players in use at the site have mono options. Thanks for reading – RJS

I wavered on whether to request a Malibu 2.0T from Chevrolet. My review of the 2013 Malibu in Eco form allegedly helped make it “the most disliked car of the year,” and I’m not one to shoot fish in a barrel. But I did allow that the upcoming conventional engines could make for a better car, and the turbocharged engine’s additional 62 horsepower certainly couldn’t hurt.

The Malibu has too much visual mass in its overhangs to look right with the Eco’s 17-inch wheels. Add the 19s optional on the LTZ, and the car looks much better. It might not push the styling envelope the way the Fusion and Sonata do, but not everyone wants a coupe-like profile on their sedan. Compared to an Accord, Camry, Altima, or Passat there’s a little less appliance. The interior is mostly the same as in the Eco, just upgraded a bit with the LTZ. So materials and styling are perhaps at the top of the class, while rear legroom is at the bottom. Men of middling size can fit in back, but just barely, and they must do without their own air vents. Adding insult to injury, the trim of the rear doors is plainer and harder to the touch.

Chevrolet joins the latest generation of infotainment systems with MyLink. I’m no Alex Dykes, so I often struggle when attempting to figure out these systems. There’s no struggle with MyLink. Pairing with your phone is quick and easy. “Home,” “back,” and “fav” buttons never leave the top left corner of the screen. Each feature has a big square icon on the scrollable home page. Selections include a very well done Pandora app along with weather, movie times, and gas prices. You can’t control the HVAC or heated seats through the screen, but there’s no need to, with large, logically organized conventional buttons for this task. Those into safety nannies might find the Malibu’s arsenal lacking. Forward collision alert (useful) and lane departure warning (not) are offered together for $395, but the rearview camera is very basic and you can’t get obstacle detection or blind spot warning on the LTZ.

Its 2.0-liter four-cylinder engine might be turbocharged to yield 259 horsepower, but this Malibu isn’t—and isn’t intended to be—any sort of SS. Instead, as in the Fusion and Sonata, the turbo four fills the role previously performed by a V6, as an uplevel engine for regular sedan-buying folks. It performs this role well, accelerating the 3,660-pound car swiftly and quietly, with little evident lag. There’s also little torque steer to speak of, but this isn’t to say that front-wheel drive exacts no penalties. Attempt to accelerate even moderately hard out of a turn and the inside front Goodyear Eagle RS-A readily loses traction despite its 245/40WR19 spec. Also, the engine might be refined for a four, but low NVH isn’t the stuff of excitement. For an engine with character, seek a competitor with a V6.

With any engine, the Malibu’s only available transmission remains a six-speed automatic. The box can be manually shifted, but poor design makes this impractical. Not only is the shifter a few inches too far aft, but the manual shift toggle is on top of the knob–where your palm covers it. (In a related ergonomic oops, the armrest is too far rearward to be used while steering the car.) Luckily there’s little need for manual shifting. Unlike in pretty much every other application, in the boosted Malibu GM’s six-speed automatic generally manages to find the gear you want when you want it. Pilot the car con brio, and the transmission automatically joins the dance. No “sport” button is provided, nor is one needed.

How can the transmission combine responsiveness with EPA-pleasing efficiency? Well, it can’t. The official ratings are 21 mpg city, 30 highway, below the Fusion 2.0T’s 22/33 and the Sonata 2.0T’s 22/34. The V6s in the Accord and Altima also do better—so much for the inherent fuel economy advantage of a boosted four. The trip computer largely confirmed the EPA ratings, with a little over 30 in straight 75 mph highway driving and anywhere from 19 to 27 in the suburbs depending on the frequency of reds and the heaviness of one’s right foot. Go with the traffic flow, and you’ll split the difference.

GM’s official order guide notes no steering or suspension differences by engine. I was mystified, as the Malibu LTZ 2.0T steers and handles far better than I recall from my drive in the Eco. Tuning isn’t quite aggressive enough to qualify the car as a sport sedan, but its body motions are very well damped and its steering weights up naturally as the wheel is turned. Take this Malibu hard through a curve, and the nose feels only a touch heavy while the rear works to help the car rotate. An email to Chevrolet brought confirmation of my suspicions: the tuning of the springs remains the same, but the steering and dampers are firmed up with the turbo engine. Even with the firmer dampers—or, truth be told, because of them—the suspension dispatches patchy pavement with neither jiggle nor float. The performance tires aren’t as quiet as those on more pedestrian Malibus, but overall noise levels remain luxury car low.

If you’ve been paying any attention, you know that Chevrolet (along with Ford) no longer seeks to underprice the Japanese, much less the Koreans. Even after an unusual $365 mid-year price cut and without nav (which would add another $795), the almost fully-loaded tested car checks in just under $34,000. Do without the tricoat white paint and “cocoa fashion” interior trim, and you can shave $495 and $150, respectively. But no matter which way you cut it the Malibu LTZ 2.0T is not an inexpensive car. It does undercut a similarly-equipped Ford Fusion Titanium by $325 (a number suspiciously similar to that mid-year price cut), but adjust for feature differences using TrueDelta’s car value comparison tool and the Ford emerges about $500 less. A Hyundai Sonata Limited 2.0T is nearly $2,000 less before adjusting for feature differences, about $700 less afterwards. A Honda Accord Touring V6 checks in a few hundred over the Chevy, though.

Consider the Malibu LTZ 2.0T in practical terms, and it fares little better than the Eco. Its fuel economy is on the low side, its price is on the high side, and its rear seat would be only marginally competitive in the next segment down. But some cars just feel right to me, and the top spec ‘bu is one of them. Add in the car’s stylish, well-trimmed interior, and I found the Malibu LTZ 2.0T unexpectedly satisfying in my typical daily driving. I’m happy I decided to check it out. Midsize sedan buyers who care more about how a car looks and feels than practical considerations like fuel economy and rear seat room should do the same.

Chevrolet provided an insured car and a tank of gas.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta.com, an online provider of car reliability and real-world fuel economy information.

It’s very cheap. It’s very small. It’s from a manufacturer that hasn’t historically focused on either. So, is the 2013 Chevrolet Spark the best car for your worst enemy?

Chevrolet offers the Korean-engineered-and-assembled Spark in some fun colors, including jalapeno (lime green), lemonade (pale yellow), and techno pink (hater bait). Yet the styling is contra-500, with the same chunky angularity as other recent Chevrolet designs. At 144.7 x 62.9 x 61.0 inches the A-segment Spark is 14 inches shorter and five inches narrower than a B-segment Chevrolet Sonic, but a little taller, and nearly as tall as it is wide. Given the proportions the designers had to work with, they didn’t do badly. Among small cars that don’t attempt cute, you’ll certainly find some homelier appliances. But does such an aggressive face belong on anything with well under 100 horsepower?

Enter the Spark with appropriately low expectations, and its interior exceeds them. The surfaces are the hard plastic that’s a given with a $12,995 sticker, but come across as sturdily functional rather than cheap. (This said, jump from a Spark to a Sonic and the latter suddenly seems almost plush.) Half-digital instruments recall those in the next-up Chevy, but they aren’t quite as fun here. With relatively few functions to manage, GM’s designers had little choice but to make the controls simple and easy to operate.

The biggest news inside the smallest Chevrolet is that four adults can fit pretty well within a 93.5-inch wheelbase. This is no iQ, where automotive packaging has been reinvented to carve out space for an extra 0.8 adults (0.2 behind the driver, 0.6 behind the passenger) within a smart-sized microcar (120.1 x 66.1 x 59.1 inches). The Spark’s packaging is relatively conventional, the main tricks being a high seating position and wheel wells that won’t swallow dubs. But get this: a Ford Focus, two size classes up, has two fewer inches of rear legroom. The Sonic also doesn’t have quite as much, and the C-segment Cruze has just a few tenths more. Shoulder room is in shorter supply, but there’s a little more than in a 500, thanks to the Spark’s barn door body sides. The seats aren’t sufficiently padded for long trips, but around town they’ll do. With the Spark’s barely there rear overhang, cargo doesn’t fare well with the rear seat up, just 11.4 cubes. A few grocery bags will fit. But fold the rear seat and there’s somehow more volume than in the Sonic (31.2 vs. 30.7).

The least friendly aspect of the interior has been imposed by the Spark’s exterior (or perhaps by a desire to make the car seem as safe as a bunker). The beltline dips dramatically as it approaches the mirrors, and there wasn’t enough space for designers to go Buck Rogers with the A-pillars, so visibility to the front quarters is good. But as in the Toyota Yaris the base of the windshield is considerably higher than that of the front windows. I felt the need to raise the seat to see over the instrument panel, at which point the windshield header intruded.

There are more constricted views forward, even in the same showroom, but such a tall, small car could easily excel in this area. Also, the beltline can dip so dramatically going forward because it is very high in the rear doors. Smallish rear seat passengers will enjoy a view of the tree tops.

The 100-horsepower 1.5-liter Mazda2 seems grossly grunt-deficient. So the situation should be nigh well hopeless in the 84-horsepower 1.2-liter Spark, which also weighs about 2,300 pounds. Yet, with a five-speed manual transmission, the Chevrolet gets around okay at sub-highway speeds. Mind you, the Spark never feels sprightly, but through more effective tuning, tweaking, and thrash suppression the Chevrolet’s relaxed pace sounds and feels appropriate while the Mazda’s seems sluggish. I had flashbacks to the 1980s Civics I used to enjoy. The shifter’s throws are longish, but smooth. GM has done worse.

Like other conventionally-powered small cars, the Spark runs into the 40 mile-per-gallon wall. It’s EPA highway rating of 38 is matched by the D-segment Nissan Altima and pretty much every B- and C-segment car. Apparently whatever the low curb weight giveth the aerodynamics inherent in a tall, stubby hatchback taketh away. An EPA city rating of 32 is more impressive

The GM tradition of tuning small cars to handle like larger cars continues with the Spark. The car feels much less tippy than a fortwo or iQ, but also less agile than its specs suggest it should feel. Its secure chassis dynamics fall into the vast middle ground between fun and frightening, successfully avoiding both poles. There’s little grip to be had from the Goodyear Integritys, but were you expecting any? Your ears rather than your fingertips let you know when they start to slide. The ride gets a little busy and noisy over 50 mph, but is reasonably smooth and quiet at around-town speeds, no mean feat given the car’s short wheelbase and low curb weight.

The Spark LS’s $12,995 base (and as-tested!) price might not seem crazy cheap. After all, both Hyundai and Nissan have offered $9,995 specials in recent years. But that price was without destination, air conditioning, or power windows. The Spark’s price includes all three—it’s not just for the ads—along with alloy wheels and ten airbags. But not power locks or mirrors. If you want those, cruise, Bluetooth, and some other goodies worth about $1,800 altogether, spend another $1,500 for the LT. Add $925 for a four-speed automatic transmission. Even the Spark LS includes about $2,800 more content than a Nissan Versa 1.6S, based on TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool. Adjust for this extra content, and the Nissan’s initial $225 pricing advantage becomes a $2,600 disadvantage. Other B-segment cars, including the Sonic, are similarly well over $2,000 more once feature differences are adjusted for. Among cars with a livable level of content, the Spark is easily the least expensive.

So, back to that worst enemy—it depends. If your nemesis is always hurrying or takes long highway trips, then sure, punish him or her with a Chevrolet Spark. But if they’re satisfied by a solid, economical, thoroughly sufficient driving appliance, or would prefer a pink or lime green anything to a gray Teuton, then you’ll have to find another means.

Harry Barnett of Jay Chevrolet in Highland, MI, provided the car (a relatively boring red one because it had a stick). He can be reached at 248-748-1126.

Michael Karesh operates truedelta.com, a provider of car reliability and pricing information.

The astronauts, of course, all drove Corvettes. GM gave a white ’62 to first-flyer Alan Shepard upon his return to Earth, then a Florida dealership provided subsequent one-year leasing deals to put astronauts behind the wheel of the latest models – clever PR for sure, and yet it seemed a perfect fit. While the very first ‘Vettes were more Piper Cub than Bell X-1, those that would be piloted by the likes of Gus Grissom and Alan Bean had the Right Stuff; the fastest and best machines America could produce.

Sixty years after GM built the first Corvette (and about fifty-six since they got the recipe right), here we are with an explorer on Mars, and it’s a robot with a sarcastic twitter feed. Heroes are scarce; the cult of celebrity now shines a spotlight on the kind of people you’d cross the street to avoid. And as for the Corvette?

This convertible is the final sortie for the C6 ‘Vette; in production since 2005, the sixth-gen Corvette is now almost entirely overshadowed by the strong-selling Camaro. Rumors about the C7 flit about the internet at the speed of conjecture, but if you’d check the click-count, I’d warrant more attention is drawn by war-correspondence on the battle between the ludicrously powerful supercharged pony cars.

Still, there’s no denying the old girl’s a stunner. It’s not really a Z06 convertible, more a Grand Sport with extra add-ons like carbon-fibre body panels. Still, between the enormous alloys and serving-platter brakes, power bulge of the hood (also carbon-fibre), and those twin grey-blue stripes on the ethereal-white body, you can tell this car is something special: a tarmac speedboat.

It is, per expectation, as plastic as Heidi Montag’s left breast. Prodding the rear bumper lightly makes for some alarming flex. There’s little sense that this car is precision-engineered or built to last.

But then, these are the rules of Corvette-dom. ‘Vettes are a big Chevy V8 up front, rear-wheel-drive out back, flimsy body in-between and a woeful interior on the inside. Speaking of which…

It does not do to complain about the inside of a C6 Corvette overmuch. Everything you’ve heard about for the past eight years is true – the navigation system is dated, the quality of the materials seems unequal to the price-tag, and there are a whole host of minor annoyances. The top, for instance, has a manual latch that’s a bit fiddly and the power-folding mechanism balked several times.

But we know all this. We’ve had these shortcomings outlined to us time and time again until they’ve become gospel. Corvettes are fast, but they’re tacky. They’re uncouth. Someday the C7 might correct the short-comings, but the C6 just doesn’t measure up to European standard. Right?

Somehow, sitting in the 427, none of these “truths” seem to matter. Just as it looks from the exterior, the inside feels like that of a cigarette boat. Yes, the seats are more comfortable than well-bolstered, but this is a street-car, not a track-special coupe.

Already feeling preconceptions melting away, I push in the clutch and press the afterthought of a rectangular start button. Two minutes later, any thoughts of what a Corvette might be is left far behind in a cloud of burnt hydrocarbons as the 427 demonstrates, unequivocally, what it is.

This is a wonderful car. Absolutely wonderful. Not only is it immensely powerful, with the Z06′s seven-litre mill providing 505hp, but there is also little-to-nothing separating you from the experience.

Sure, all that power is harnessed by wide, sticky Michelin Pilot sports, and the balanced chassis is suspended on the hyper-adaptable and ICP-baffling Magnetic Ride Control suspension, but the 427 is anything but buttoned-down. Apply full throttle in second gear, feel the chassis yaw and hear the change-over as the exhaust baffles snap open at three thousand rpm and the ‘Vette roars its battle-cry.

An ’80s-style heads-up display starts rolling over green-lit numbers at a ridiculous pace. If you’re used to miles-per, you’ll think you’ve switched over to metric. If you’re used to metric, you’ll think you’re looking at a hundredths and tenths on a stop-watch.

The 427 roars down the on-ramp with the unstoppable thrust of a Saturn V. Without a roof, there’s nothing to muffle the thunder of that uncorked LS7; come off the loud pedal and the resulting crump-crump sounds like the echo of far-off artillery. If you drive this thing through a tunnel and it doesn’t make you cackle like a madman, you’re probably a communist. Or dead.

Everything that was missing from my experience with the 911 can be found here. The ‘Vette has none of the finesse of the niner, and considerably less practicality. But it’s more honest somehow; analog, not digital – an F-14, not a flight simulator.

It’s unfair to call it crude; you’d not use the same epithet for a sledgehammer or a SPAS-12. The Corvette is simple, brutal, visceral and vital in a way other sports cars have forgotten how to be.

At the end of its production run, it’s just a funny plastic car with a gargantuan heart of pure aluminum. I love every single thing about it.

A 1967 427 Stingray once driven by Neil Armstrong is for sale on eBay right now, with bids rumoured to be in the quarter-million range. Ghoulishly, the car did not previously meet reserve when listed originally, but now is almost certain to reach a higher number with his passing.
It’s a battered old thing, clapped-out and badly treated, with hacked-up fender flares and a patina of abandon. Still something special though; something worth preserving.

It’s hard to imagine a modern astronaut behind the wheel of the modern 427. Not that slipping the bonds of Earth takes much less courage than it used to, but there’s less of a by-the-seat-of-your-pants air about it.

These days something like an autonomous car might be more appropriate. Or, given the successful flight of SpaceX (one step closer to Weyland-Yutani), perhaps a Model S?

No, this is not a car for today’s scientist-explorers. Instead, it’s a link back in time, an appropriate flag-bearer to mark the 60th anniversary of an exceptional automobile.

Its replacement, the C7, will no doubt be a refinement in many ways: proper seats, improved in-car amenities, better electronics, reduced fuel-consumption, probably faster as well.

Tough to say, though, whether actually any better than this, the last hurrah for the sixth-gen Corvette.

Because it’s a God-damn rocketship.

On the other hand, I wouldn’t care if he was a semi-reformed axe-murderer with a peacock-sanctuary in the backyard and a penchant for three a.m. amateur bagpipe practice – he’s got a pickup truck.

Greater love hath no man than this; that he lendeth his pickup truck unto me. Yea, may his days be filled with the light of grace, just as I have surely filled the bed with this old couch, and some lawn trimmings, and these two dead cedars, and assorted.

As many of you know all too well, home-ownership is a never-ending stream of minor improvement schemes, referred to as “projects”, or the “honey-do list”, or, in my case, “Oh What The Hell’s Broken Now?”

However, a fumble-fingered DIYist such as myself has little need for full-time pickup truck ownership. Much will fit in the capacious boosted-lego-wagon, and really, anything too big for a Subaru wagon shouldn’t really be attempted by Yours Clumsy. At least, not without help.

Once in a while though, I find myself faced with a heap of debris that can’t be simply flung over the back railing carefully placed into our well-managed compost heap. And, at the same time, there are those slightly more ambitious projects that require materiel too ungainly to strap to the roof of a compact car.

In such times as these, I have but to wander next door and find out when Eric doesn’t have a golf game to go to. He’s only to happy to hand over the keys and, for a few hours, suddenly I’m possessed of an honest-to-goodness truck.

When I’m driving my car, I’m usually race-prepped: seat bolt upright, elbows at my sides, looking through the corner, eyes always shifting, rev-matching on the downshift and generally pretending I look like a rally car driver and not an enormous toolbag. Climbing into Eric’s truck has an entirely opposite effect.

There’s no cool to be had here: the damn thing’s full of bears! The bench seats are spongy and redline’s at 4 grand. The interior is an unrelenting sea of greyish plastic with panel gaps you could lose a schnauzer in, and the air-conditioning ran away to join the circus about four years ago. Stick the column-shifter in D and off we toddle, windows down and crackly tunes coming through the feeble stereo.

Avian editorializing aside, this thing is great: such an honest, unpretentious machine. It’s Sheriff Andy Griffith in two-tone teal-on-grey. Just ease back in the seat, stick your arm out the window and try to stay out of the way. I wonder why all these folks are in such a hurry. Must be something real important.

Me? Well, I’ll get there when I get there. We’re moving fast enough to have a little breeze going on this hot July afternoon, and the dump’s just down the road a-ways. Just watch out for those who want to dive in front – these brakes aren’t exactly about to stand the Chev’ on her nose – and keep on truckin’.

Yard clippings get shovelled off into the green-waste pile and that old couch (a bit of a college relic) gets bunged into the general refuse pile. A few other folks are unloading trucks or utility trailers while big, steel-spiked front-end loaders wait impassively to crush and compact everything up for transport to some far-off land-fill. No time to muse on the unsightly byproducts of consumerism – off to the hardware store.

As you’d expect, the Silverado’s got the turning circle of a bulk cargo freighter, but leave it a little further out in the parking lot and you won’t have a problem. Home Depot’s the usual Sunday-afternoon zoo, but we’re in-and-out in about ten minutes (pretty well a record) with 8-foot sheets of corrugated roofing secured for the upper balcony.

Back in the saddle and homeward, with a brief stop to put a few bucks in the tank as is only common courtesy. My father and I have been at this project since early this morning, so we’re both comfortably dirty, and I can feel a bit of that coming tiredness that leads to a genuine, untroubled sleep.

I’m no working man, and this isn’t my truck, but as I grasp the wheel with callus-free hands, it’s like feeling the well-worn handle of a spade, or some other blunt-purposed tool. Somewhere, far off in my genes, stir the shades of men who once laboured in the Irish bog, slicing turf with quick, curt cuts.

Tonight, I’ll dine well, out in the backyard where I can see the fruits of the day’s labour. I’ll have hung my hammer back up in the shed, stacked the leftover lumber neatly against the wall, gathered up wayward nails into an old plastic peanut-butter container.

And, with a hand-shake and a murmured word of thanks, the keys to Eric’s pickup will be handed back and once more hang upon their peg. Until the next time.

If you’re shopping for a compact American crossover, Chevy’s Equinox is likely on your list. If however you’re looking to rent a small crossover, the Chevrolet Captiva Sport is probably what you’ll get for $29.95 a day from Hertz. While you’re bound to see them on the streets, you can’t buy them new unless you’re a fleet customer. That’s because the Captiva is designed to do two things: keep fleet sales of GM’s other CUVs low and continue to amortize the cost of Americanizing the Opel Antara. Yep, that’s right, under the bow tie, the Captiva Sport is none-other than the 2008-2010 Saturn VUE, aka the Opel Antata, Holden Captiva and Dawewoo Winstorm MaXX. We spent a week in a Hertz rental to find out if Chevy’s rental soft-roader should be on your used CUV shopping list.

Click here to view the embedded video.

 Exterior

The exterior of the Captiva is simple, clean, and completely unremarkable. Saturn called the design theme “Opel look share” which roughly translates to “Americanized Opel built-in Mexico.” Because the Captiva was “created” for fleet duty the plain-Jane looks are completely appropriate (and the slab-sides make covering the CUV with vinyl wraps or magnetic signs an easy process.) On the downside, the Captiva looks nothing like the rest of the Chevrolet product lineup. Of course, this probably isn’t a bad idea since fleet use tends to create high depreciation. Despite the rental-fleet target demographic, alloy wheels and side curtain airbags are standard on all Captiva models. If only Ford could have figure this out and kept the Panther afloat for fleet duty (and Sajeev.)

Interior

The Captiva’s interior is a study in grey plastic, but the look is both simple and tasteful. Cabin materials are higher than you might expect with plenty of soft touch plastics. Durability is always an issue with rentals. Our tester has over 18,000 miles on it and looked like a herd of feral animals had migrated in one window and out the other, however a pre-photo shoot wipe-down revealed that the interior plastics took the beating in stride, showing little wear, but questionable fit and finish. Most Captivas for rent (and therefore available on the used market) have the “2LS” package which includes a power driver’s seat, lumbar support, leather-wrapped steering wheel, single-zone climate control, fog lights and Bluetooth phone integration. The standard cloth seats are firm and supportive up front, but fairly hard and low to the ground in the rear. Luggage space in the Captiva rings in at 29 cubic feet behind the rear seats, and 54 cubes with the rear seats folded. This is higher than the $19.95-a-day Malibu, but about 30% less than the CR-V and RAV4.

Infotainment

Unlike most GM fleet vehicles, the Captiva can’t be stripped to the bone for volume buyers. This means you can expect all rental and off-rental Captivas out there to have side-curtain airbags, air conditioning, cruise control and a silver-tone version of GM’s corporate AM/FM/CD/MP3/iPod/USB head unit. While GM does offer the option to remove OnStar and XM Satellite Radio from the Captiva, doing so is an “option” that only reduces the sticker by $85 so it doesn’t seem common. GM has had a long history of phone integration since OnStar came on the scene in 1995 and this translates into excellent Bluetooth phone call quality. The head unit’s iDevice and USB integration worked well with my iPod nano, iPhone 4S and iPad 3 as well as a variety of USB flash drives but navigating a large collection of songs is tedious on the small display.

Drivetrain

Under the short hood of the Captiva lurks “some engine.” As a fleet or rental car, this section is fairly unimportant and could understandably skipped if GM hadn’t made some important improvements. Back in 2008 the VUE had less-than-refined engine and transmission choices. Rather than maintaining the status quo, GM dropped in a new 2.4L direct-injection four-cylinder engine good for 182HP and 172lb-ft of torque and bolted it to a 6-speed automatic. The power boost over the old four is welcome, but the transmission is the bigger change. The GM/Ford developed 6-speed delivers smooth shifts with surprisingly little hunting and most importantly: improved fuel economy. There is still a V6 option, but the old 3.6L engine has been ditched in favor of a more powerful 3.0L direct injection V6 putting out 264HP and 222lb-ft. As with the old Saturn VUE, AWD can only be added with the V6.

Drive

The Captiva’s Opel roots are obvious out on the road and I’m not talking about the odd-looking steering wheel stalks. The Captiva handles twisty roads acceptably with a well controlled chassis, average steering feedback and a surprisingly quiet ride. Stabbing the throttle in the four-cylinder model produced very little torque steer despite the respectable 182HP on tap.

Unlike many of GM’s four-cylinder engines, the 2.4L direct injection engine is surprisingly quiet, smooth and thankfully free of the diesel-like clatter from BMW and Ford’s turbo fours. This level of engine refinement is important, because 182HP pitted against 3,900lbs means the engine spends plenty of time at higher RPMs.

The EPA rates the four-cylinder Captiva at 20/28MPG (city/highway), an improvement of 1/6MPG over the Saturn VUE thanks to the extra gears and the DI treatment. The FWD V6 Captiva matches the V6 FWD VUE at 17/24MPG despite the increase in power while the AWD Captiva takes a 1MPG hit on the highway. The 6-speed automatic manages to make the 400lb heavier Captiva competitive with the 4-speed RAV4 and only 3MPG behind the 5-speed CR-V.

GM’s fleet website prices the Captiva Sport between $23,435 and $32,860 depending on your trim and options. Given that GM fleet purchases typically see rebates from $500 to $3,000 depending on the number of vehicles purchased, the true starting cost is lower. A quick used car search revealed nearly a hundred used 2012 Captivas within 500 miles of my location compared with four 2012 RAV4s, and 15 2012 CR-Vs. This comparative plenty helps translate to the advertised $18,000 prices for low mileage (under 12,000 miles) base models and $26,000 for fully loaded AWD Captivas with leather. Adjusting for content, a used RAV4 has a resale value some $2,000-$3,000 higher and a quick conversation with the Hertz sales guy proved there was plenty of room to negotiate on the Chevy. Since late-model used car purchases are all about the bang-for-the-buck, if you’re shopping for a bargain used crossover, the 2012 Chevrolet Captiva Sport should be on your short list.

Neither Chevrolet nor Hertz provided anything for this review. Our total bill was $360 after tax and insurance for a 5-day rental.

Specifications as tested

0-60: 9.5 Seconds (2.4L FWD)

Average Fuel Economy: 20.1 MPG over 623 miles

Two Chevrolets in a rental lot
And sorry I could not thrash ‘em both
And be one reviewer, but I got
The Cruze first, figuring I could not
Fail, given Impala fleet sale growth

To find one at another time and
Compare them, though GM liked it not,
Face to face and back to back and then
Perhaps a fleshly, fantastic end
To turn the stomach or stir the pot,

The Cruze I rented for four fab days,
The Impala I stretched out to five.
I raced in LeMons north of L.A.,
And stayed with my friend Melisa Mae,
Then to Quebec for a B-Spec drive.

That was getting a bit painful, but you get the idea, right? Over the past two weeks, I drove “New GM” — the Daewoo- world-engineered Cruze LS, complete with 1.8-liter four-cylinder — and “Old GM” — the recently-interred 2012 Impala avec direct-injection V-6 — back-to-back over two race weekends. I put 818 miles on the Cruze, running back and forth between my hideout in Burbank and the Buttonwillow race course near Bakersfield, CA. Three days later, I rented an Impala in Columbus, Ohio and drove it to Mont-Tremblant for the purpose of participating in Rounds 7 and 8 of the Canadian Touring Car Championship. Adding a side trip to Montreal brought my total mileage in that car to 1,787. The purpose of the two rentals, which I requested specifically and was able to arrange with the assistance of the nice people at Hertz, was to answer a simple question: Which car is best at being a Chevrolet?

Two years ago, I reviewed the Cruze for TTAC, concluding that

The 2011 Chevrolet Cruze is a good car, although at least part of its goodness comes from the fact that it isn’t really that small. It’s well-positioned against the Civic and Corolla. I believe that it beats both of those cars in significant, measurable ways. This is what it is: a good car, a bold car, a car for which no purchaser need make an excuse or feel any concern. This is what it might be: great. That’s for the buyer to decide. This is what it is not: American.

As has been the case each time I’ve encountered the Cruze since then, my first impressions in the Burbank airport lot were size and solidity. This car packs about 3,150 pounds into a shadow which is nearly identical to that of a 1995 Honda Accord, but if you’ve ever driven that ’95 Accord you will know that the Cruze feels like a tank in comparison. High beltlines, solid doors, a dashboard which exudes a certain upscale feel even in the poverty-spec LS trim. The Cruze, Malibu, Buick LaCrosse, and Cadillac CTS all feel like about the same car inside with different amounts of functional buttons.

Every other car in the segment except the moribund Corolla feels lithe, light, and eager compared to the Cruze. I once thought that this difference came from the Cruze’s Korean origins; after all, this is a big car in its home country. After driving the Elantra, which feels positively disposable by contrast, I realized that this time, Daewoo was following the global playbook. It’s a GM trick as old as the Citation, or perhaps the Nova: sell a big car as a small car.

This time, the trick works. On the brain-dead I-5 run from Burbank to Buttonwillow, the Cruze is flawless in its disposition. The road surfaces are smothered, the wind noise is minimal, the stereo is the proverbial loud and clear. A special slow-clap goes to the iPod integration — I have 15,465 songs on my 160GB Classic and the Cruze quick-selects between all of them via its multi-function knob without a hitch. Nor are the dynamics suspect. When a semi-trailer discharges a blown retread a few hundred feet from the Chevrolet’s nose, I effortlessly slow-hand my way around it without even lighting the ESC telltale. The air-conditioning just about handles the 108-degree dry heat, although I never feel cold.

Hmm… maybe it’s time to turn the A/C off. There’s a sign telling me to do so as the road rises into the Instagram-washed-out California sky. Well, that sign is probably from 1955. Nobody turns off the A/C on the hills nowadays. New cars are expected to handle extremes of temperature and load so we, the people, can concentrate on discussing The Hunger Games through our Samsung Galaxys. (Galaxies? Galaxians?)

Five minutes later, I’ve started to stir the faux-Tiptronic, wrong-way-oriented automatic in frustration. Under these conditions, the Cruze is, not to put too fine a point on it, fucking gutless. The market-mandatory sixth gear yields to fifth, then to fourth, then I have a brief moment of soul-searching considering that I am about to ask a mass-market automobile with one person and a carbon-fiber HANS device on board to drop to third for a major state highway, then I yield to necessity and we are in the Ecotec’s deeply unpleasant hornet’s hive of a midrange.

The reported fuel mileage, which had been a nice cheery “30.0″ during the first part of my trip, falls until it reports “26.5″. Then it’s time to fall back down the hill into the nowhere in particular of Bakersfield. Over the days to come, I repeat that trip three times and wind up using the Cruze as a base of operations, sleeping in the driver’s seat between stints and dehumidifying my Nomex suit in its open, sun-facing trunk.

At the end of eight hundred miles, I continue to rank the Cruze above the Corolla and Civic, below the frisky-fun Focus, and about level with the Elantra depending on one’s priorities in life. Nothing fell off during my test. The seat was comfortable enough. It feels like a twenty-thousand-dollar car. In order for me to honestly recommend it to anyone about whom I care, however, I will need to get into a time machine and read the Consumer Reports of July 2018 or thereabouts to see how it’s going to hold up. Buying an outsourced GM small car is a hit (Prizm) or miss (Spectrum) game. In this era, if you’re determined to deal with the General in any segment it’s worth seeing whether or not the soliders in your chosen regiment are leaving on their feet, or behind them.

The Impala, by contrast, is as proven as a modern GM vehicle comes, so when I step into my plain-white, fleet-trim-level 2012 model three days after returning my Cruze I’ve already put “reliability” on the positive side of the attributes sheet. This is a thoroughly-debugged vehicle, veteran of probably a billion-plus miles’ worth of uncaring public-sector service. The only new part is the 302-horsepower direct-injected V-6, about which more — a lot more — in a moment.

After the suave, segment-competitive interior of the Cruze, the Impala comes as a horrifying shock. The seats could have been standard equipment in a non-Eurosport Celebrity, and once perched on one you’re surveying perhaps \the most depressing-looking dashboard of the twenty-first century. The photograph of quilted maple which has been folded, spindled, and multilated over the plastic airbag cover doesn’t help matters. The floor-mounted shift is COMPLETELY UNMARKED and pressing the button on said shifter causes a magnetic “thunk” to resonate through the thin-rimmed steering wheel, presumably because there’s some sort of interlock at work. It’s so bad it feels like parody, like the “Mediocrity” that Subaru made out of the Kia Optima for marketing purposes right before the Optima tranformed into a sleek, more-Audi-than-Audi super-limo and publicly ripped the still-beating heart out of the Legacy’s weak, gender-ambigous chest while urinating deliberately into the shocked-open collective mouth of the long-suffering Subaru dealer body. Not a great car, and perhaps not worthy of my previous praises. This is going to be a long weekend.

It takes about, oh, ten seconds to permanently change my opinion of the 2012 Impala, because that’s how long it takes for me to get out of the parking lot and let the V-6 breathe fire all the way down the nearest eighth-mile. The “big” Chevy is well over a foot longer than the Cruze but only weighs about three hundred pounds more. This, more than anything else, explains why the Impy feels so light, floaty, fragile on the road by contrast. Combine that with the low beltline, which is probably a hard point dating back to the 1988 Cutlass Supreme or something like that, and it’s the Impala that feels like the smaller, less substantial car. To push that additional three hundred pounds, GM has given the Impala well over twice the power.

Let us take a moment now to praise the direct-injection, 3.6-liter, GM V-6. In the Camaro, it feels slightly overmatched. In the CTS, it feels somewhat coarse, and it’s the optional mill in a $35,000 wannabe-luxury car anyway. It never impressed me, not like the Mustang’s 3.7-liter Duratec did. I marked it down as an under-Achieva, if you will. Only now, at the end, as the V-6 arrives in its perfected destination, do I understand. It’s clear that this engine is so good that GM needs to keep it under wraps. I’ve always admired the way the company deliberately handicaps itself, and this is no exception. Are you in the market for a brand-new Cadillac ATS or Buick LaCrosse? Take this standard four-cylinder — right up your ass. Are you a local municipality looking to replace the meter-maid’s penalty box? Let’s give you a 302-horsepower monster mill and not say anything about it. You’re welcome. Please vote for the next bailout; we’re gonna need it.

The 2012 Impala leaps for the open spot in traffic like a BMW 550i minus the crap visibility and confused transmission. With a cultured, frenetic snarl, the V-6 instantly transports you and the Playskool dashboard ahead of you into any space you wish to occupy. You will simply never tire of surprising G35s and entry-level Germans from the tollbooth, from the off-ramp, away from the Main Street lights. The brakes, when you need them, are present, and the handling is perfectly predictable but not numerically excellent.

Down I-90 East the V-6 reports a staggering 33.5 miles per gallon cruising at a fixed 74 mph — and we don’t stop for fuel until 508 miles have run under the Impala’s energy-saving tires. The once-reviled seats have been proven to be perfectly comfortable, the stereo is loud enough and the 1/8″ input doesn’t seem to impede the clarity of my Nonesuch-generated MP3s from Pat Metheny’s newest trio record. It’s possible to see all the way around the car when on the roll, which is a feature slightly more difficult to obtain in a new sedan than a 600-horsepower engine.

Quebec’s Mont-Tremblant region has hills which rival California’s in grade if not overall height, but where the Cruze stumbled, the Impala surges. The observed economy never dips below an average 31mpg. In Montreal’s cut-and-thrust downtown, it’s impossible to beat the plain-white-wrapper Chevy to the next light. I have a strong urge to sneak it onto the Mont-Tremblant course itself; I’m pretty sure I can smoke the Touring-class cars up the back straight.

When my final race wraps up in near-perfect ignominy Sunday afternoon, I’m the second-to-last car off-course and I have nearly eight hundred miles to go before I’ll be permitted to close my eyes. While my traveling companion, the infamous Vodka McBigbra, sleeps across the wide velour back seat, I set the iPod to “John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman” on endless repeat, and the Impala takes me home with a single fuel stop. The wind isn’t troubled by the old W-body’s faux-Accord shape. The lighting is still Soviet-era but I’m no longer bothered by it. I am a dead-tired freeway warrior battling fatigue and white noise, crossing the featureless country like the traveling salesmen of America’s storied past, my hands light on the wheel. We never leave sixth gear, we never feel cramped, we never just stop to walk around. This country, this America, still exists, and the Impala is so much better at being an American car for this America than the Cruze, or anything else money can buy.

The new Impala is a pathetic attempt to engineer and sell an inferior copy of the old Hyundai Azera. If they build it for twenty years, they may eventually get it right, the same way that the Cruze may eventually come to be quite the respected nameplate if they don’t all lunch their transmissions or shed their brakes in the next five years. In the meanwhile, it gets no respect, because it hasn’t earned any. The old car with the brand-new heart continues to be the Chevrolet in which to see the U.S.A.

 This is a test of TTAC’s Corvette ZR1 purchased with 0% financing. Better late than never, as I’ve marinated over both new and old ZR-goodness several times in my brother’s garage. No doubt, the Viper killing, LS9-FTW motivated Corvette is a worthy successor to the original, with the power-to-weight ratio to eat 458 Italias and cream GT-Rs…at least when AWD is a handicap. But almost two years later, the “King of The Hill” lacks the limelight it deserves. Does the average sports car buyer know the differences between Grand Sport, Z06, Z06 Carbon and ZR1?

To wit, the ZR1 needs more style.  The original’s coachwork necessitated a wider door, but the current makes do with fender lip extensions from the Z06. Sure, there’s the carbon fiber roof/splitter and a hood window that frames…an ugly plastic skirt around the LS9’s intercooler.  Perhaps clear hoods are better left to mid-engined exotics. Far worse, however, are the radioactive blue (from the “Blue Devil” days of this design) accents on the badges, brakes and engine cover: forget about playing “Little Red Corvette”, unless it’s played by The Clash. Color palette restrictions are in effect, but our Cyber Grey tester’s blue metallic flakes are a very effective complement.

At least the “3ZR” dress-up package helps the Corvette’s obvious interior flaws. Perhaps the world-class interiors promised to us so many years ago by Bob Lutz are just a C7 ’Vette away? The asymmetrical Left-Right door panels stick out like JWOWW giving a lecture at the MoMA.  And the laughably fake carbon fiber center stack keeps the Porsche crowd in stitches. Sit inside and the biggest flaw comes to light: those shitty seats.

Pardon my digression, but…

While these thrones were a downer in our Z06 review, the ZR1’s astronomical asking price adds insult to injury.  After 20 minutes in the flat, unsupportive bottoms, my time in a Chevy Cobalt XFE was looking mighty desirable.  But perhaps you remember the Caravaggio name from an old Lingenfelter Z06 review.  After my brother befriended “John C” on the Corvette Forum, a deal was made – a prototype pair of Caravaggio’s finest seat foam, carbon fiber shells merged with the stock leather bits. Simply put, this is heaven in a C6 Corvette.   Combined with Caravaggio’s upgraded (i.e. real) leather shift boot, horn pad and real carbon fiber center stack, it’s a shame that Caravaggio-worthy bits aren’t standard fare like Brembo brakes.

There are rumors that Caravaggio’s finest will appear on new Corvettes much like Recaros on the CTS-V.  So consider this a sneak peek.

Speaking of Brembos, them’s some serious stoppers.  Experiencing them during the mandated break-in (pun not intended) 0-60-0 x 50 burnishing procedure displayed their physical prowess.  Pounding them proved unflappable, the perfect partner to the endless torque provided by the LS9, and hell, even the rims were clean when we finished! That said, the Brembo’s decreased unsprung weight must be the reason why the steering wheel gets light and loose when you mash the gas at cruising speeds.  (Or it could be the 604 ft lbs of torque!) The last time I felt this was in a RUF 911 Turbo. Not necessarily a bad thing, as the ZR1 steers less like a stereotypical Corvette and more like that Porker. And with that, I’ll let my brother put his ride on the track:

Sanjay writes:

Flogging the ZR1 on the bends of Spring Mountain Raceway in Pahrump and Motorsport Ranch in Angleton, TX proved that the active handling computer rarely intervenes when driven smoothly. But, with 604 ft lbs of torque, even 1/2 throttle in 3rd or 4th brings the back around promptly.  Tail-out is very controllable—more so than my 2006 Z06—but it takes a few laps to get enough heat in the Michelin run-flat PS2s. When warm, their grip is not much less than the (moderately fresh) Michelin PS Cup tires I used on Corvettes at Spring Mountain, and far more predictable in breakaway. Those CC brakes, combined with the C6′s fastidious attention to weight savings, meant lap after lap of 100% fade free, yank your Oakleys off stopping ability.

The ZR1’s steering/brake/shifter/unique twin disc clutch interface is so much smoother than any other Vette! And while you can take advantage of PTM by flooring the throttle and letting the computer manage torque in a corner, that’s a bit disconcerting. And it’s the wrong way to drive from a technique perspective. In PTM level 5, intervention is imperceptible for most of us non-Baruth types, but even members of the C6R LeMans team noticed tiny improvements in lap times with it on.

So let’s get back to the street.  No Super Car is ever plush, but put GM’s unquestionably awesome Magnaride suspension in mild suppression mode and things get civilized. There’s the de rigueur C5/C6 platform road noise from the 13″ wide rubber through that cavernous cargo bay, yet body motions are perfectly damped to leave the soul at complete ease.  You never feel punished with Magnaride and Caravaggio at your side: the Corvette is finally growing up to its price point.

Viva Detroit, via Caravaggio!

On the streets or the track, the ZR1 does what it promised: destroy just about any car for a Chevrolet price tag. After two years to simmer and enjoy, the ZR1’s engineering prowess is timeless. The fact that you can buy a bona fide 10 second quarter mile, 20+ mpg monster with factory reliability and a 5 year/100k warranty was laughable even a decade ago. Forget the not-unique styling, interior fit and finish, and radical incentivizing that muddied the waters, for this (12 year old) platform underpins one of the best super cars on the planet.

It’s not often that automakers go to the trouble of bringing a car to Canada, but refrain from selling it in the United States. With one tenth the population and different homologation laws than the United States, the costs rarely make it worthwhile for automakers to import unique products to the Canadian market.

 Vehicles like the Mercedes-Benz B-Class or Nissan X-Trail are exceptions to the rule – compact utility vehicles that are fuel efficient and priced in the lower end of their segments. General Motors originally intended to sell the Chevrolet Orlando in the United States, but according to GM Canada, American engineers wanted to include features like knee airbags to help the Orlando meet an obscure American crash test regulation, but the cost of this change would have made the venture unprofitable. Since the vehicle already met every other unified North American standard, it was an easy choice to sell it in Canada, where higher fuel prices and a love of smaller vehicles would make it an attractive choice.

Minivans may be considered “uncool” by some, but they’ve yet to lose their luster up here. The Dodge Grand Caravan is one of Canada’s best-selling vehicles, and starts at the bargain basement price of $19,995 – identical to the Orlando. The similarities end there, as the Orlando is more a re-incarnation of the first generation Odyssey than a successor to the dreadful Uplander minivan that most of us have erased from our memories.

Like the old Odyssey, the Korean-built Orlando has conventionally hinged doors, a 4-cylinder engine and a smaller footprint than most traditional minivans. The Orlando, at 183 inches long, is nearly two feet shorter than a Grand Caravan and is 669 lbs lighter. The Orlando’s lack of heft means it feels like a big Cruze behind the wheel, with the same well-weighted but somewhat vague steering and relatively car-like driving dynamics. A 2.4L Ecotec engine and 6-speed automatic transmission are employed here, and while they feel slightly taxed in this application, the Orlando has enough power to get out of its own way. Pity that the GM 6-speed automatic still feels as if it’s on a 5-second delay to catch any instances of vehicular obscenity, as it spoils what could otherwise be a well-matched powertrain. Fuel economy around town was about 23 mpg, or 1 mpg better than GM’s city rating (supposedly it will return 34 mpg on the highway). A manual transmission is available, but the market for this unit is probably smaller than those Canadians who favor privatized healthcare or more lax gun laws.

The cabin of our tester was utilitarian, with all-black fabric and black plastic surfaces throughout our 2LT tester. The dash is basically identical to the Cruze, and all the controls will be familiar to anyone who has been in a recent GM product. One neat feature is a hinged stereo faceplate that can flip upwards to reveal a hidden storage compartment – great for cell phones, iPods and other gadgets. The seat fabric appears to be some kind of easy-to-clean material rather than plush cloth, likely a concession to owners who will want to clean up spilled apple juice rather than luxuriate in some fine imported fabric.

What the Orlando adds on the “car” side of the equation, it lacks on the “utility vehicle” side. There is no fancy stow-and-go seating arrangement like the Caravan, just conventional folding seats in the second row. The third row is very tight and suitable only for small kids. Owners would frankly be better off folding them flat, which opens up a much larger cargo area that would easily swallow up a couple suitcases.

Sales of the Orlando haven’t been that brisk, with the Mazda5 outselling it by over 100 units so far in 2012, and the Caravan comprising 60 percent of the total minivan market. The Caravan’s Stow ‘N Go seats, and the ability to swallow multiple hockey bags (thanks to the Caravan’s larger size) and identical pricing – both base models start at $19,995, and a Caravan with Stow ‘N Go starts at $23,995, while our Orlando 2LT starts at $500 less. The Orlando’s car-like nature made it easy to park and maneuver in the tight confines of downtown Toronto, and was able to haul myself, 4 friends and a dog around with ease on a weekend jaunt to a local park. But with most minivan buyers residing in the suburbs and ferrying multiple kids to school, hockey and all points in between, it’s easy to see why a traditional minivan may suit their needs better than the Orlando, despite the Chevrolet’s merits.

My intial review of the 2012 Chevrolet Sonic was less than stellar. Considerably less. But, as noted, that reviewed covered the LT trim level with the normally-aspirated 1.8-liter four-cylinder engine and six-speed automatic transmission. Everyone else (aside from our own Steve Lang) has been reviewing the LTZ trim level with the 1.4-liter turbocharged four and six-speed manual transmission. They’ve been much more positive about the car. How much difference can an engine, transmission, and tires make?

The differences begin with exterior appearance. Car companies frequently fit cars with a smaller wheel than they were designed for, but how they expect this to help sell cars escapes me. Even if some people buy the aesthetically afflicted car, others will see it on the road and form their initial impressions accordingly. Though not a beauty in any configuration, the Sonic looks much better with the LTZ’s 17-inch alloys than the LT’s 15s. The aggressively styled front end and chunky fenders were clearly penned with the larger wheels (or perhaps even larger ones) in mind. Especially when the car is painted orange, as both tested cars were, the 17s should be mandatory. Both of the tested cars were also hatchbacks, but unlike with other B-segment cars the Sonic sedan is equally attractive.

The interior plastics didn’t seem any nicer after a week than they did during my earlier test drive. Even in the LTZ they’re competitive with other cars in the segment but a clear step down from the fabric trim (on the instrument panel!) and soft-touch polymers of the C-segment Chevrolet Cruze. My fondness for the motorcycle-inspired gauge cluster did grow with familiarity. Unlike the oddball digital instruments of decades past, those in the Sonic actually work well, clearly and entertainingly presenting essential information.

The driving position and interior dimensions are of course unchanged from the LT to the LTZ. In either trim the Sonic feels larger than its direct competitors, and more like cars from a size class up, thanks to a high beltline and distant windshield. Whether this is a plus or a minus depends on whether you prefer your small cars to actually seem small. Chevrolet’s bet, is no doubt a sound one: most people buying a B-segment car would get something larger if they could afford it. Actual interior room is among the best in the segment, so the average adult will just fit without scrunching. The front seats are comfortable, but those seeking much lateral support will be much happier in the upcoming 2013 Sonic RS. Oddly, the heated seats only have one level of adjustment.

The 1.4-liter engine might be turbocharged, but with the same peak horsepower rating as the normally-aspirated 1.8 it’s not a screamer. In fact, it’s the opposite. Where the 1.8 lugs, gargles, buzzes, and roars in the process of motivating the Sonic’s 2,600 pounds (which shouldn’t actually be a tall order for a 138-horsepower 1.8), the 1.4T effectively accomplishes this task. The difference: a much plumper midrange (indicated by 148 pound-feet of torque vs. 125) and much more refinement from idle to redline. In fact, the 1.4T isn’t only smoother and stronger than the Sonic’s other engine, but better than the segment’s other powerplants. If you’re seeking a B-segment car that provides effortless acceleration in typical suburban driving, the Sonic with the 1.4T engine is your only option in North America.

Given the engine’s plump midrange and less stout top end—it was clearly optimized for the former—there’s little joy in and even less justification for making runs to the redline. But the six-speed manual transmission is still the way to go. The stick feels slicker and more solid than past GM efforts—and than Hyundai’s current effort in the Accent. Aside from the more direct connection with the car a manual transmission always provides, this one provides the additional benefit of avoiding the unrefined, poorly programmed six-speed automatic. Then again, the automatic isn’t yet available with the 1.4T (though this combo has been offered since launch in the Cruze.) The EPA ratings: 29 city, 40 highway. In suburban driving with a light foot the trip computer reported from 34.5 to 37.5. With a heavier foot it reported 27 to 30.

Already noted: the Sonic feels like a larger car from the driver seat. Aside from this, it handles quite well in LTZ trim, where the 205/50HR17 Hankook Optimo H428 tires actually provide enough grip to exercise the suspension (if still much less than the suspension could handle). There’s even some communication from the steering, though a smaller diameter wheel than the GM standard unit would be welcome. Likely tuned with young, inexperienced drivers in mind, the Sonic feels very stable and controllable even as the front tires begin their progressive slide into moderate understeer. For all but the least skilled drivers the Sonic LTZ 1.4T should be an easy and enjoyable (if not quite engaging) car to drive quickly along a curvy road.

Given this safe, predictable handling, a stability control system that cuts in much earlier and more aggressively than the typical GM system is overkill. Holding down the button to turn the system off doesn’t actually turn it off, only bumps the intervention threshold. And even then the system cuts in a little early. If you can’t safely exercise the Sonic even without the aid of a stability control system, you probably shouldn’t be driving.

Though the Sonic’s handling borders on crisp and its body motions are better controlled than those of more softly-sprung Cruze, its ride is about as smooth and quiet as it gets in this class. The Ford Fiesta feels more Euro taut and solid, but the Chevrolet feels larger and steadier.

The big disadvantage of the 1.4T engine: it adds $700 to the Sonic’s price, a significant sum in this most price-sensitive segment. Go with the LTZ to get suitably-sized rims, and the sticker comes to $18,695. A Hyundai Accent SE with an equally powerful but not nearly as torquey 1.6-liter four is $2,000 less. The Sonic does include quite a few additional features, among them four additional airbags, a telescoping steering wheel, automatic headlights, heated seats, and OnStar. (But if you want rear disc brakes like those standard on the Hyundai, you’ll need to wait for the even pricier 2013 Sonic RS.) Adjust for these feature differences using TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool, and the Accent retains a $600 advantage. Which is essentially how much the 1.4T engine costs. Consider this the price of midrange torque and, once feature differences are adjusted for, the two cars are close in price. And the Ford Fiesta? Topping $19,000 when similarly equipped, it’s clearly the priciest of the three.

Longish story short, the Sonic is a much better car with the 1.4T engine and the LTZ’s larger wheels. Unfortunately, these features also bump the price considerably. For price-sensitive folk GM needs a more refined base engine and a 17-inch wheel option for the LT. For enthusiasts, an RS is on the way with sport buckets and sport suspension. What the RS won’t have: a stronger engine. This is a shame. While the 1.4T is the best engine in the segment for the typical driver, it’s strength—a strong midrange—makes it less suitable for enthusiasts seeking a payoff north of 4,000 rpm. The Opel Corsa is available with a 189-horsepower 1.6-liter engine. If GM were truly swinging for the fences, this would be the engine in the Sonic RS.

Chevrolet provided the car with insurance and a full tank of gas.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta.com, an online provider of car reliability and real-world fuel economy information.

On the outside, the Sonic strikes some interesting poses. The side character lines are assertive, and the bold nose worn by this baby-bow-tie might be the best look I’ve ever seen from Chevrolet (I’m glad they didn’t get all Camaro-cartoonish on the Sonic). While it seems that the last decade was marked by compact cars that were egg-shaped contraptions with no pizzazz, the Sonic’s headlamps are the polar opposite with “individual” lamp assemblies instead of a single aerodynamic unit. While the look is both unique and striking, I can’t imagine they are “pedestrian friendly” and they look like they’d be a bear to clean (a problem not lost on a guy that washes his own cars). Out back things get a touch awkward with a stubby trunk, tear-drop shaped tail lamps (side view) and a plain trunk lid. While compact sedans are difficult to style to begin with, Chevrolet’s dramatic schnoz makes the boring booty a bit more pronounced. To soften the blow, the LTZ trim includes well-integrated fog lamps and a bump from the base car’s 15-inch wheels to 17-inch 5-spoke aluminum rollers that fill out the wheel wells better than most in this segment (I’m looking at you, Honda Fit).

The problem with looking at the top trim-levels of a particular car is that the interior can disappoint. The reason of course is a practical one; while you might be paying nearly $20,000 for the top-end model, the same interior is used in the base model costing some 25% less. The Sonic LTZ is no different from the rest with plenty of hard plastic on the dash and doors. Fortunately, the interior styling is modern and fairly unique which helps distract from the parts quality. The dilemma of a fully-loaded sub-compact for $20,000 or a base mid-size sedan like a Ford Fusion, Toyota Camry or VW Passat is not lost on me. For the money, if the interior quality matters to you, jump up a size and you will be far happier with your decision. Within its class however, the Sonic is no longer at the bottom of the pack in terms of interior refinement, instead trailing behind Hyundai and Ford but notably above Chrysler and Nissan’s discount offerings. Yet again, features on the LTZ help to distract from any haptic concerns with standard heated seats, a tilt/telescoping steering wheel, leather seating surfaces, and a thick-rimmed leather steering wheel. What isn’t standard is an abundance of rear leg room, a problem common among the majority of the competition (the Nissan Versa is a notable exception). The cargo capacity of 14 cubic feet is very competitive and unlike some of the competition, split folding rear seats are standard on the Sonic.

On the safety front, the Sonic has recently scored an IIHS top safety pick along with the Hyundai Elantra, Kia Forte and Ford Focus. All Sonic models come with a bevy of airbags including knee airbags for the driver and front passenger. GM is quick to point out OnStar as a safety feature; however the Sonic only gets a 6-month subscription for free. While I found OnStar handy on my last vehicle that came equipped with it (a 2000 GMC Envoy), the price could be a problem for budget shoppers with the cheapest package costing $199 a year (there are multi-year discounts available). If you want the turn-by-turn navigation feature (GM’s solution to the lack of an in-dash nav system), that’ll set you back $299 a year. Shoppers with smartphones might want to just stick to their Google Maps app and a basic AAA membership. Still, if you are risk averse and want to know that someone hears you when a tree falls in the forest, the Sonic is the only OnStar equipped car in the class.

Car companies equate small car buyers with young car buyers and for good reason; in the US small means cheap and the young buyers typically have little cash. The problem with this segment and the supposed target demographic is that the young demand technology. Unfortunately for Chevrolet (aside from OnStar), the Sonic has little going for it in the cellphone/music device integration department. There is an “OnStar app” which allows you to perform a variety of tasks from your Apple iPhone or Android device including: locking or unlocking the car, getting vehicle service information, setting up service appointments, viewing your tire pressure and finding your car in a parking lot. Two problems exist with this; the yearly fee and the fact that none of those features address the behind-wheel experience. While you can plug your iPod or iPhone into the Sonic, there is no voice command ability for your tunes ala Ford’s SYNC or Kia’s UVO. Adding to the frustration is an incredibly slow interface and tiny screen. I’d say you would be better off unplugging your device, browsing, then plugging it back in – except the system seems to always start at the first tune on your device in alphabetical order. If you’re young and not a Luddite, good luck finding your beat. On the bright side, the Bluetooth system operated flawlessly with above average sound quality.

Ford has been touting their turbocharged engines as the answer to all the world’s ills, so it was only a matter of time before GM hopped on the boosted-bandwagon. Instead of a boring name like Ecoboost, by checking the $700 option box (on LT and above trims) Chevy gives you the “Turbo Sonic” or “Sonic Turbo.” Take your pick. Either way it sounds like something from The Jetsons. For turbo duty, the engineers blessed the 1.4L cast-iron engine with aluminum heads, dual variable valve timing, a suitably small appetite for fuel and a tiny power bump verses the base 1.8L engine. While both engine choices are good for 138HP, the 1.4L turbo delivers peak power 1,400RPM lower than the 1.8 and, typical of turbo engines, it delivers 23 ft-lbs more twist with the peak hitting at 2,500RPM (1,300RPM lower than the 1.8). What does this mean for the driver? As long as you don’t mind the turbo lag, the 1.4L engine will serve up 60MPH about a half second faster than the 1.8L while delivering a 22% improvement in economy (4MPG city and 5MPG highway better). If you are waiting for the Sonic RS, be aware there are no planned power upgrades, just styling and possibly wheel changes.

Due partly to the turbo engine and the 2,850lb curb weight, the Sonic LTZ Turbo is rated for 29 MPG city and 40 MPG highway. Our tester came with the 6-speed manual transmission and, until sometime this spring, this is the only transmission choice for the turbo. I am told however that when the 6-speed automatic does drop, we should expect to see essentially identical EPA numbers. If you live in the mountains as I do, just wait for the automatic. As much as I love a good manual, the tiny engine runs out of steam around 5,000 RPM and as with most small turbocharged engines you don’t just have to downshift to get up a hill, you have to downshift and wait for the turbo to spool-up. When the mountain roads start twisting, the electric power steering is as numb companion, however the chassis is well sorted and grip from the 205-width low-profile Hankook Optimo tires was greater than I had expected. Despite our testing, mountain climbing and plenty of idling at the photo shoot, we averaged 34.6 MPG during 865 miles and easily hit 41 MPG on the open highway.

While the outgoing Aveo was named the Least Satisfying vehicle by Consumer Reports, the new Sonic has a few things going for it. Aside from being the patriot’s choice for being in Michigan, it delivers a competent driving experience with excellent fuel economy. While the $19,420 price tag may seem high, it is less than a Hyundai Elantra Limited and a hair cheaper than a fully loaded Fiesta SEL sedan. The Sonic wins points for being more fun to drive than either, unfortunately it loses more than it gains(in my book) for its poor smartphone integration. Fortunately GM has announced that their new “MyLink” infotainment system is coming to the Sonic in the 2013 model year. While I hesitate to speculate on new products, I have to say the thought of a 2013 Sonic Turbo with the 6-speed automatic and the new MyLink system makes me think GM is finally on to something.

Statistics as tested

0-30: 3.0 seconds

0-60: 8.7 seconds

1/4 Mile: 16.6 seconds @ 83 MPH

Average Fuel Economy: 34.6 MPG over 865 miles

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

First a little background. After a very prosperous and promising 90s, it seemed GM had called it quits in the 00s. Extreme penny pinching eliminated but the most basic forms of engineering and development. The interiors were the most hideous on this side of a Trabant. You get the picture.

GM managed to alienate much of their fan base. GM hit record growth. As they hit lower price points they grew and then grew some more. Even in a market like Brazil, so sensitive to prices, inevitably GM hit a wall. Sales started to fall. People caught on that they were buying the same tired car from 10 years ago. The competition improved by leaps and bounds. GM not only stalled, they seemed to go back. Most people buying the General’s cars were doing so because of the ‘deal’, not because they liked the car. How would GM climb back out the hole it had dug?

To find out, I headed on down to my local friendly dealer to see and drive the Cobalt. To gather some impressions that I’ll now share with all of you.

What first hit me was the back. Big. The Cobalt sports one the largest trunks in Brazil (always good for a people who are big into, well, trunk. It’s a shame then that its space is not all that useful. Though it has great capacity, a lot of this capacity comes from the lid being very tall. As the car is relatively narrow, you may just have to put your bags side by side instead of one on top of the other.

In Brazil, the car is sold with a 1.4 L engine, which is good for 97hp on Brazilian gas or 102hp on ethanol. On the sugarcane juice it puts out 13kgfm of torque. This all means that if you want the car to go, you’ll have to row your gears with competence and keep the revs high. This car weighs little more than one metric ton and this taxes the little engine. Imagine this large car, loaded with baggage in the huge trunk and 3 good size teenagers in the back. Daddy will have to plan his passing and merging gingerly.

GM talks about 0-100km/h times of less than 12 seconds. My highly scientific test methods, laying on the accelerator, and keeping it floored until the shrieks of the salesman makes me slow down, make me believe in something around 14 to 15 seconds. If GM is to be believed, this car will, with a backwind and an endless straightaway at sea level, get to 170km/h. The torque available for such a small engine is nice and it feels like that there is some at lower rpms. Like Americans often times repeat, there is no replacement for displacement and miracles are rare to come by. My short test drive showed me that you will need to rev, but this little engine does not rev as freely as other small engines I’ve tested. It becomes gruff and complains as the revs go up.

Alas, my test drive was limited. Worried that my unwilling partner was going to hit me after a few short bursts of acceleration, I couldn’t test it in the curvies or broken pavement. If you believe what the press is writing though, it does feel solid. It drives like a big car, with all the good and bad that entails. According to the press, it does do curves nicely enough. My impression is that at a sedate pace it will be comfortable enough. It rides on 15′ wheelies.  The tires are 195/65, which is good as sidewalls thinner than that become very tiring on Brazilian roads due to bad maintenance.

Inside is where this car really shines. The seats and even the instrument cluster have been seen before in the Agile. However, the seating position is much more straightforward and less convoluted than in said car. There is good head and shoulder room. Your legs will not bump against anything either. Very good. As this platform is all new and global, and was done taking into account that new thing called ergonomics, it’s easy to find a comfortable position (without having to twist your spine like in the Agile and other GM small cars heretofore). The greatest ergonomic mishap is that the power windows’ controls are too far back on the arm rest. Thus, you’ll be forced to get your hand in all kinds of weird shapes to access the switches.

The seats themselves apparently are a little bigger than those found in other cars of this segment in Brazil. They also seemed comfortable enough. They have a nice wavy pattern on them and manage to escape the black on grey theme found in almost all other small cars in Brazil. The dashboard and door panels use plastic a touch above the competitors which is nice for GM in Brazil (head bow to you). Like the seats, they also managed to get some greenish and brown hues into the plastic making them much more visually pleasing and soothing than those in competitors.

Another nice touch is that GM has used bits and pieces from the Cruze in the Cobalt. This gives it a nicer overall feel and will please all but the most soft-plastic fanatic. The turn stalk, for example, is the same one found in the Cruze. The instrument cluster is like in the Sonic reviewed by Steven Lang. Inspired by sport bikes it is different from the norm. My only gripe is the needle of the tach. Seems like a really cheesy piece of very cheap red plastic. Few people will notice or care though.

The exterior design is pleasing. At first glance, Brazilians will be forgiven if they just think it’s an Agile sedan. But pay close attention and you’ll see that the Chevrolet family truck-like fascia has been softened. The little curves make all the difference and while on the Agile it is ugly, on this car it works. The greenhouse is short, much more so than in the main competitors Logan and Versa, but it follows the spirit of the times and most people will mindlessly sacrifice visibility for style. The sides as slab-like. This is fine with me as I’ve said it here before, I like boxy cars. However, the tall cabin and seating position, plus the relatively low hood and very high trunk lid make parking sensors almost an obligation on the car.

Taking it all in, design-wise there are just two ill-resolved issues. One is the trunk lid. It’s very tall. This characteristic is punctuated by having a crease run down the middle of it. This visually spikes it up even more in a place where I think it would benefit from being flatter. There is another odd crease that starts out in the back of the car and makes its way through to the back door where it plunges down and just dies. It appears to be there just to break some of the slabness. However, the execution was clumsy and, especially on lighter-colored cars, it makes it seem like the car’s been hit. The first time I saw Cobalt in the wild, the first thing I noticed was what seemed like a huge dent in the back door. No, it’s just that styling effect.

All in all a good, professional design. A little boring, but sedan buyers in this segment in Brazil are boring, I mean conservative. The few pieces of chrome here and there sophisticate it a little, the proportions are generally ok. At the price point, you really can’t complain. Much more of a looker than the Renault Logan that, with the exception of me and a few ex-Soviet bloc expats, nobody likes. The other main competitor is the Logan-in-Japanese-drag, the Nissan Versa (Sunny in America), which is very Asian. Which is good or bad depending on your personal tastes.

So now we come to pricing. Let’s consider that, roughly, 1, 80 Brazilian reais equals one American dollar. This cars starts at $39,980 (US$22,200). This gets you the basic LS trim, which gives you AC, hydraulic steering, power locks and a pocketknife key (don’t ask me why but this is a big deal in Brazil and GM proudly emphasizes this, I mean on a VW Gol you can pay extra to get one!). There is the intermediary trim and the top of the line LTZ that starts at R$45,980 (US$25,500) and adds special alloy wheels, power windows (only front doors), double airbag, ABS, fog lights in the front, trip computer and CD player. Sadly, this makes this car very competitive in Brazil. In our not-so-little-but-still-very-warped market this makes the Cobalt really attractive, GM predicts sales of 3,500 cars a month, and I believe it. Especially after the market knocks off at least R$2,000 from the basic one and maybe 3 or 4,000 from the LTZ.

So like the Sonic previewed by Steven Lang, two big hits in a row for GM on TTAC. Must be some kind of record.

My family loves small cars. If you asked my wife what car she has enjoyed the most out of the hundreds of vehicles she’s driven over the years, it would be a 1st generation Honda Fit Sport. In her world not even a decked out S-Class or a modern day Mustang compares to the fun she gets driving the original Fit around town.

At the auctions you can pretty much tell my presence by scanning the parking lot for a first generation Honda Insight. If you see one there, it’s mine. After more than 45,000 miles I still haven’t found anything that compares to it. Although a 1995 Miata that now occupies my garage comes awfully close.

So now that you know how much my family is into small cars, the obvious question arises. “What do you think of this small car?”

Press pictures always try to give the nip and tuck treatment to any new car. In person the Sonic strikes me as what would happen if a Dodge Charger mated with an Aveo hatchback.  As unholy as that thought sounds, the outcome is actually better than what you would expect.

The Sonic in it’s all-too-unique flesh offers a high beltline, a Malibu-esque snout,  and enough play with the front and rear fascias to make it easily stand out in most any setting.  In silver or black it’s sporting. However I would love to have a short talk with the folks who decided to produce so many of these ‘Inferno Orange’ Sonic creations. Eeechhh!!!

In direct sunlight, this color doesn’t complement the plumpness of the Sonic unless they were trying to make a silhouette of an ‘orange’ pineapple.

The interior is far less controversial and rivals the best in class. Chevy decided to use the motorcycle world as the inspiration for their instrument cluster. It works great. This may represent the first successful attempt in mating the analog with the digital on a mass marketed car in God knows how long. In a world where Fits, Focii and many others have embraced the insectozoid school of dashboard design under the guise of sportiness, Chevy offers a far more artistic and user friendly format.

The designers deserve special credit for creating a modern work of art.

The rest of the insides are somewhat upscale… but not quite. Chevy implanted many of the interior adornments of the Cruze with far fewer soft touch surfaces and pretty much left it at that. Given how popular the Cruze has become this is a very smart move.

The only heavy criticism I can levy on the Sonic is that the seats are a bit less supportive than the Fit and the Rio. Also there is no instant MPG setting on the dashboard. None. Sorry.

Space is surprisingly big… in that small car sort of way. We were able to seat three people across that would be considered ‘average’ in the year 1979.  However that middle seat would get a bit uncomfortable for today’s horizontally endowed average person. Now that most families have four or fewer people, the Sonic definitely seems to satisfy the ‘average’ need.

Yesterday’s trunk is chopped to a third and stood upright with the Sonic. One suggestion from my better half. Chevy should strongly consider a two-level storage system similar to the one offered in the original Malibu Maxx.

With a heavy-duty upper shelf instead of the cover, the hatch would offer more versatility and space for families on the go. On a long haul to Grandma’s we managed enough Christmas presents for 12 people with the lightweight cover.

A family of four can comfortably go for a week long vacation with the Sonic even without a shelf. It is surprisingly versatile although not near to the level of the Honda Fit. However there is one cantankerous thing that will get in the way of enjoying that long vacation ride: the transmission.

1st generation Saturns have a tendency to ‘rubber-band’ as they get older. It’s a strange sensation where you feel the car jut ever so annoyingly during downshifts and the rpm’s jack up anywhere between 200 to 400 rpm’s.

This 2012 Chevy Sonic did the exact same thing. Twangg!!! The 3rd to 2nd downshift was particularly heinous… at times. Sometimes it shifted fine. Apparently, so I’m told, GM decided to go with software that makes the transmission ‘adjust’ to the engine over an indeterminate period of time.

Really?

The last time I heard of similar driving issues was when Volvo offered unique ‘programming’ to their electronic throttle modules on their 1999 – 2002 FWD Volvos. The outome was a 10 year / 200,000 mile warranty,  a lot of angry Volvo customers, and a vast wasteland of S70′s and V70′s that can now be found at the auctions.

Perhaps mine wasn’t given the update. But as a matter of conscience I can’t yet recommend the automatic version of the Sonic until this transmission issue gets resolved.

The Sonic beats the class-leading Fit in a few notable respects. Room. Power. Quiet… especially on the highway. With the 1.8 Liter Ecotec the Sonic offers a far more ample supply of torque than the Fit when it comes to real world highway driving. 80 mph cruising yielded only 2800 rpm’s of relative quiet compared with the 3400 rpm’s of Fit buzziness. On the road the Sonic feels more planted than the Fit, while the later feels more athletic. Take your pick.

As for fuel economy, the mpg estimates on the Sonic are 25 city, 35 highway. I averaged 31.2 mpg combined with much of my city driving squarely in the 27 to 28 area.  Unlike certain manufacturers I am confident in endorsing the Sonic’s MPG window sticker.

So why should you buy a Sonic? If you do a lot of highway driving and find a six-speed manual to your liking, then definitely consider it. This Sonic LT came with the ‘connectivity plus cruise’ package for $525 (remote vehicle start, cruise, steering wheel controls, bluetooth, USB), the wheels and fog lamp package, and a (disco!) inferno orange metallic exterior. The total comes to $18,580.

Alternatives to the Sonic LT? Baruth loves the Rio. I like the Fit for in-town driving. Sajeev would buy an army of Panthers, and Bertel likely prefers a Volkswagen. Seriously, there is a crushing load of competition out there.

Fit, Accent, Rio, Versa, Yaris, Fiesta, Golf,  Fiat 500, the upcoming Dodge Dart, SX4, Impreza… not to mention lower end Civics, Corollas, Jettas, and maybe even a based out Focus with the right dealership.

The short answer for today’s consumers is that, “The Sonic would be great if…”  Hopefully a quick and vigorous remedy for the Sonic’s transmission software will let millions of future buyers say, “The Sonic is great because…”

I received a full tank of gas, insurance, and a week’s worth of driving for this review. Drives ranged from 10 to 150 miles and due to my auction work, I was all over metro-Atlanta that week. My apologies if this review doesn’t offer the usual photo gallery but a few pictures surprised me with their blurriness. That’s what I get for using a flip camera.

Through the mid-1980s, General Motors essentially owned the midsize sedan market. This dominance was ended by the original Ford Taurus, and GM’s position sunk further with the rise of the Honda Accord and Toyota Camry to the top two spots. In recent years the Fusion has replaced the Taurus, while Nissan, Hyundai, and (for 2012) even Volkswagen have become serious contenders. For GM to reclaim one of the top spots, the Chevrolet Malibu had better be a damn good car. The model has been redesigned for 2013. Is the new car good enough? After doing my best to get some seat time in the Detroit area, I gave up my press junket cherry to Chevrolet to find out.

The Sonata gained its current position partly through striking exterior styling. The same won’t happen with the new Malibu. It’s a handsome car, especially with the LTZ’s 18-inch five-spoke alloys (the chunky overhangs appear more massive with the Eco’s 17s), and the ends of the car are distinctively Chevrolet, but the side profile has been seen many times before in various Accords and Camrys over the past 15 years. The trunk bustle was introduced on the 2002 BMW 7-Series, though it is more successfully (if still not entirely successfully) incorporated here. Chevrolet touts the Camaro-inspired tail lamps, but will many potential buyers notice or care unless the car also performs like a Camaro? Either way, the Malibu might be more attractive than most competitors but its conservative shape won’t grab the attention of potential buyers.

The best-looking car I saw in Austin? That would be a double-dubbed 1961 Cadillac Coupe de Ville:

The new Malibu’s interior is better. Though there’s nothing exciting about the instrument panel’s styling, and the strakes connecting the vents are a questionable element, it looks and feels much more upscale than those in competitors, especially the Camry and Passat. Much of the instrument panel and door panels are soft-touch surfaces suitable for a more expensive car.

Step up to the LTZ trim (not available with the eAssist powertrain, and so not offered at launch), and you can get stylish brown and black leather seats with orange piping and neon blue stitching. Sound like too much? Well, it actually works:

In the Eco, the optional leather is a relatively drab single shade, and the standard cloth is even more downscale. At night, everything is lit in ice blue. The various buttons do have a feel in keeping with the car’s price point, but they are large, logically arranged, and within reach. The Eco has MyLink standard, which provides Bluetooth smartphone integration complete with voice activation and apps for Pandora, Stitcher, and others to come.

The new Malibu is 2.7 inches wider than the current car, and rides on a wheelbase 4.5 inches shorter. These dimensional changes translate to the interior, where there’s more shoulder room but less rear legroom. The VW Passat now clearly leads the segment in the latter. The front seats are fairly comfortable, at least when fitted with four-way power lumbar (which is on the passenger side only with leather). Without the adjustable lumbar lower back support is lacking. Unlike in some recent GM cars, power recline is available for both front seats. Raise the driver seat a couple inches to clear the tall instrument panel, and the view forward isn’t too far off the segment average. The view rearward, on the other hand, could well prove a stumbling block for many potential buyers. Because of the very high trunk, the rear window is a narrow slit. And to get the drag coefficient to 0.30 (for the Eco, 0.29 for the upcoming LS with its narrower tires) the side mirrors were downsized.

Though the official rear legroom stat of 36.9 inches suggests otherwise, the back seat is just large enough for one adult male about six-feet in height to squeeze behind another. While the large cushion promises good thigh support, it’s mounted a couple inches too low to actually provide it. Compromised by the rear-mounted battery pack, trunk space and utility are only a match for hybrids. The rear seat folds, but as in the Camry Hybrid the pass through is a small slot on only one side:

Buyers for whom trunk space is a priority will strongly prefer the related conventionally-powered sedans in all cases. Interior storage is fairly generous, and includes a hidden compartment behind the display screen.

Eventually three four-cylinder engines will be offered in the new 2013 Malibu: a 182-horsepower 2.4-liter with “eAssist,” a 190-horsepower 2.5-liter, and a turbocharged 2.0-liter. At launch in early 2012, only the first will be available. Horsepower ratings for the 2.0T, like the 2.5 part of a new Ecotec engine family, haven’t yet been announced for this application. But in the Cadillac ATS it’ll churn out a not-quite-Sonata 270. “eAssist” refers to an electric motor linked by a belt to the engine that charges a small battery pack while braking then provides up to a 15-horsepower boost—on top of the engine’s 182—while accelerating. So it’s essentially GM’s “light hybrid” system from a few years ago with upgraded components (including a lithium-ion battery pack) and re-branded to lower expectations vis-à-vis full hybrids with larger battery packs and more powerful electric motors. How much more powerful? The Toyota Camry Hybrid’s motor-generator can produce 105 kW. The Malibu’s? Eleven.

To take advantage of this assist to benefit fuel economy, GM has fitted the Eco with a taller final drive ratio (2.64 vs. 3.23). Perhaps they should not have. While 190+ horsepower should be plenty to motivate the Malibu’s 3,620 pounds (about 130 were saved through Eco-specific lightweight parts), in practice the powertrain often struggles, especially up hills. While the engine is nearly silent under 3,500 rpm, above that mark a high-pitched whine suggests that too little engine has been given the task of accelerating too much car. Whatever assist is provided by the “eAssist” is far from evident. The full hybrids from Toyota, Ford, and Hyundai all feel significantly quicker. For best performance it helps to manually downshift the six-speed automatic (the only transmission likely to be offered with any of the engines), but this proves awkward. The manual shift rocker switch is on top of the shifter, so you cannot grab the shifter in a conventional manner to operate it. I improvised by using the armrest to fully support my arm, and then tapping the rocker with my free hand.

The EPA rates the Malibu Eco at 25 city, 37 highway. The trip computer reported about 25 in suburban driving with about one complete stop per mile. Out on a rural highway we occasionally observed just over 30. While the Hyundai Sonata Hybrid also struggles to match its EPA numbers, both the Ford Fusion and Toyota Camry are capable of low 40s in suburban driving. Of at least equal concern: the non-hybrid Sonata (24/35) and Camry (25/35) have EPA ratings nearly as high as the Malibu Eco’s.

The new Malibu is even more resistant to stopping than accelerating. While the regenerative braking is transparent, braking force does not build linearly, and the brakes don’t do much until quite a bit of effort has been applied. Repeatedly I had to step up my braking effort, then step it up again, as the Malibu Eco rushed towards a stopped car ahead.

The Malibu’s handling casts further doubt on its claimed 3,620-pound curb weight. Though closely related and dimensionally similar to the Buick Regal, through its steering wheel the Chevrolet feels much larger and heavier. Suspension tuning that contends for the title of softest-in-class is part of the reason. While over decent roads during casual driving the payoff is a very smooth ride, hit wavy pavement at speed and the under-damped body floats and bounds about. The suspension geometry seems sound and the car’s handling is always safe, with mushy understeer as the low limits of the Goodyear Assurance tires are approached, but there’s little sense of what’s going on where the rubber meets the road. Confidence is not inspired. I’d much rather drive a Regal or even a 2012 Camry on a challenging road. What the Malibu does do extremely well: keep outside noise outside. It’s an incredibly quiet car. Even the clatter of a Ford diesel pickup accelerating uphill with a loaded trailer the next lane over was barely audible.

While the Malibu Eco can’t match the Fusion or the Camry hybrids in terms of performance and economy, it also costs less despite having a much more upscale look and feel. The Malibu starts at $25,995. Load one up, and the sticker is $30,625. A similarly-equipped Ford Fusion Hybrid lists for $33,835, over $3,200 more. TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool indicates that in terms of features the cars are close to equal. A similarly loaded up Camry Hybrid or Sonata Hybrid splits the difference between the two: both are about $1,900 more than the Chevrolet after adjusting for feature differences. But a Sonata Limited costs about the same as the Malibu, while a Camry SE is about $2,000 less. So the Eco only seems a good value if compared against full hybrids—with which it cannot compete in terms of fuel efficiency. The Malibu 2.5, when it goes on sale next summer, will likely cost about $2,000 less (the amount GM charges for this system in the Regal).

So, the Malibu Eco isn’t terribly fuel efficient, and also certainly isn’t a driver’s car. And yet Chevrolet will likely still sell many of them (especially once the other engines arrive). Toyota’s and Volkswagen’s recent decontenting have opened up a hole in the segment. Many midsize sedan shoppers prioritize interior materials and a cushy, quiet ride above all else, and Chevrolet has done a very good job with the new Malibu’s interior and an outstanding job with noise suppression. This formula has been working with the Chevrolet Cruze and Equinox. It will likely work with the new Malibu as well.

For this review, GM paid to fly the author to Austin, TX, put him up for a night, and fed him four meals.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta.com, an online provider of car reliability and real-world fuel economy information.

Avoiding the usual Auto Journo networking opportunities like the plague leaves me with the road test equivalent of everyone’s sloppy seconds.  But there’s a good story behind a nearly dead model, unless we are talkin’ about the Chevy Malibu. Without the charms of a 6th gen Honda Civic or Panther Love (‘natch) this whip’s demise couldn’t come soon enough. A recent sales chart proves the point: a sad commentary for a car that was once hailed as “the car you can’t ignore” by people genuinely interested in making a CamCord fighter…so how exactly has the ‘Bu faired since then?

The Malibu doesn’t Mali-blew like a Chrysler Sebring.  The Buick Lucerne/VW Phaeton-alike styling from the B-pillar back quite fetching.  It’s an upscale and hunky greenhouse, marred by a fat face influenced by the (GMT-800) Chevy Silverado’s two-tier grille and a posterior hammering circular Impala lighting in a square peg posterior.  Even with punchy 18” hoops, brilliant Diamond White paint and tasty chrome LTZ bits thrown into the mix, the façade’s ham-fisted details kill the mood, but it’s a significant improvement over the 6^th gen Malibu. Which begs the question, is the Iraqibu the cleanest, most ideally proportioned Malibu of the past 30 years?

On to more subjective matters: the ‘Bu was but a single pre-Ch. 11 GM family sedan promising to shed the craptastic interiors of the General’s past 10-20 years, and the PR-tweaked photos certainly proved it. In reality, none of them really delivered. The Malibu LTZ’s interior is “look, but don’t touch quality.”

Sure, that chrome and wood dashboard looks suitably upscale, just don’t touch anything but the laser-perfect, microscopic panel gaps.  If it’s Cocoa or Cashmere in our tester, it’s usually too brittle to be class leading. Class average is more than fair: the chintzy roll-top console storage, depressingly sparse door panels, missing rear armrest (yes, really) and outdated ICE belong in Kirk Van Houten’s “Bachelor Arms” apartment. But the trick dashtop storage door proves this ain’t no Chrysler Sebring…like, awesome.

This is a good time to mention my test drive buddy, my feminine Reality Check of sorts. Why did she come along for the ride?  For a free spa trip on GM’s marketing dollar!  Poking around the top drawer Malibu’s chocolate brown guts left My Reality Check feeling flat, noticing a loose thread in the Malibu’s leather (nearasdammit to rubber) seating, the utterly mangled sunroof-to-headliner molding, and the half-inch of play from said headliner when you press the (seemingly spring loaded) overhead console. I totally missed all of those faults.

Which begs the question, did she find these faults because this was not a press vehicle? On the other hand, pay no attention to those concerns: FREE SPA TRIP!

The Malibu’s interior warms up after a few miles behind the wheel. The Corvette tiller is fun to grab, albeit with the vague steering expected from a family sedan with no sporting pretensions.  The same holds true for the springy bits, there’s enough body roll to warn drivers of their imminent EPIC FAIL, but understeer is constrained well enough to keep all but the most idiotic test drivers from plowing into the scenery. Put in terms of the (2011) Camry, the Malibu LTZ is halfway between the Toyota’s uber-plush LE tuning and surprisingly wonderful SE spec.  No complaints, this performance is the sweet spot for any bread and butter sedan.

Our tester came with the base four-cylinder motor, an “Aluminum Duke” with a decent 169-horses pushing 3400lbs of Chevrolet sedan if you will. The powertrain works well, provided you catch the 6-speed autobox at the right moment.  With the close ratios, 33MPG highway rating and a flat, torque steer free power band that’s light on 4-cyl thrash in the upper rev range, the Malibu is just completely adequate for a normal person. With that in mind, a simple request: My Kingdom for highway downshifting with haste!

In the end, the current Chevy Malibu was a wholly decent vehicle with almost nothing noteworthy.  But did it make headway against the CamCord, or is it another “almost there” GM product from the Robert Farago days of TTAC?  I wish there was reason for a test drive, other than to give My Reality Check a free spa trip thanks to the “Chevy Girls” viral marketing initiative.

Is twitter set afire by Chevy Girls hashtagging their royal treatment at local spas? Maybe not, but they get an “A” for reaching out to the right people with the right bait. By “bait” I mean the spa thing, not the Chevy Malibu. So what’s the last refuge of the damned?

Value pricing. Our $29,755 tester can sell for about 25-large.  Then again, wouldn’t you really rather have a Buick (LaCrosse)? Even with no options and no toe-tag sales in sight, GM’s Tri-shield nets you a better vehicle for not much more money. And if you can’t play in the LaCrosse-Malibu LTZ’s price point, the base ‘Bu is no match for the surprise and delight offered by the Hyundai Sonata. Perhaps GM will give us a family sedan we simply can’t ignore…perhaps next time.

 (Mr. Mehta received no compensation for this review, the Spa Gift Certificate was not mailed to his address. You’re welcome.) 

Okay, maybe not twice as much. A $7,500 tax credit takes care of over a third of the difference. And a run through TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool finds that the Volt includes about $2,300 in additional features. Give credit for these, and the difference is about $10,300. So figure fifty percent more.

A word about those earlier reviews. All three were based on short drives, about an hour in my case. More than a few people have wondered how valid such a review can be. Well, valid enough that even after a week in the car I find I have little to say that hasn’t been said before, save that the strengths noted earlier remain strengths and the weaknesses noted earlier remain weaknesses—neither significantly diminishes with experience.

The number one weakness: as Ed noted, “an iPod covered in buttons is no iPod at all.” Even after a week in the car the center stack remained difficult to use. At a minimum the many buttons need to be separated into clearly demarcated logical groups. As is, even basic functions often require far too much conscious thought and time with one’s eyes off the road. I never did figure out how to best operate the HVAC, as the AC and heating systems seemed to have minds of their own even in “comfort” mode. I’d also like a way to turn off the audio without turning off everything. As is, you either have to turn the volume all the way down or use the mute button on the steering wheel. Go the latter route, and the music returns at the original volume the next time the car is started—the “mute” is forgotten when the car is shut off.

Among other weaknesses, the Volt’s rear seat didn’t seem any less cramped after a week with the car than it did initially. And you’ll want the $695 rear camera option given the car’s poor rearward visibility.

Objectively, the Volt’s number one strength is, of course, its ability to run on electricity. Some will claim that the roughly forty-mile range before the gas-powered “range extender” automatically kicks on isn’t sufficient. Well, in my case I had to take the car off life support in order to test it with the engine running. Until I did so all of my runs to Costco, the doctor (daughter broke a toe), and the kids’ school were accomplished entirely on battery power.

How much cheaper is it to run on electricity? I complained earlier that the Volt’s display doesn’t include a report for miles-per-kWh analogous to the trip computer’s miles-per-gallon report while running on gas. I’ll repeat that complaint. Consequently, I had to do a little math, the upshot of which is that the Volt covers about four miles on each kilowatt-hour (when not running the air conditioning). Conservatively figure three miles per kWh to allow for charging losses and some AC use. In Michigan each kWh costs about 12 cents, so this works out to about four cents per mile. In the Cruze ECO I observed a bit over 35 MPG. With gas at $3.80, that’s about 11 cents per mile. Over the course of a 12,000-mile year, the difference would add up to about $800. In other words, it’ll be a while before that $10,000+ is recouped.

But does this render the Volt pointless? Perhaps there’s more to the car than cutting fuel costs? Any car beyond a basic transportation appliance is bought because it’s more pleasurable to look at, sit in, or drive. Perhaps all three.

The production Volt doesn’t look like the initial concept (which I personally never expected to happen, given GM’s propensity to create thoroughly impractical concepts). But it also doesn’t look like the Cruze or anything else, with the partial exception of the Prius. And it does have a more stylish, upscale exterior than the Prius. Just looking at it I felt like I was driving something special, and not just because of the $995 “veridian joule” paint and $595 polished aluminum wheels that helped bump the pre-tax credit total to $46,165 (someone inside GM did their best to induce sticker shock in reviewers). This was far from the case with the Cruze.

Sit in the Volt, and the sense of occasion goes up by an order of magnitude. Love it—or not—the interior styling is certainly distinctive and effectively expresses the leading-edge technology packed into the car. When pressed, the start button lights up blue while the car makes a video game-like “powering up” sound. Hit it again, and you get a “powering down” sound as the light goes out. (My boys loved this.) The problem we had figuring out whether or not the Prius was on: avoided. The two displays are gorgeous and far better designed than the buttons that assist them. The driving efficiency gauge, a ball the changes height and color, is the most intuitive I’ve yet experienced—though I wish it reported how much of the braking was being handled through the regenerative system. There’s also a driving efficiency report to surreptitiously test one’s “I’m not going to change the way I drive” spouse. (She scored a respectable 86 percent and reported liking the car far more than the relatively sluggish Prius.)

Drive the Volt, and you’ll find that, in this case at least, appearances aren’t deceiving. GM has tuned the powertrain to deliver an incredibly smooth launch. Even if you floor the accelerator from a dead stop in “sport” mode there’s not a hint of a jerk. You cannot chirp a tire in this car. Instead, the car smoothly and almost silently builds speed much the way a high-speed elevator does (if not in the same direction). As with the Prius, driving the Volt with an ultra-light foot feels natural. But, unlike with the Prius, driving it with a heavy foot also feels right. Once the car is underway the electric motor dishes out a firmer shove when prodded. Either way, the Volt never feels sluggish or strained the way a Prius (or Cruze ECO, for that matter) can. With the accelerator to the floor the car easily leaves traffic behind—if you’re in a hurry, sixty can happen in about nine seconds. Not a stellar time, but recall that this is with absolutely no sign of strain from the powertrain. While running on battery power the electric motor is nearly silent. I rode in an EV1 once, and the whine of its motor was far louder. Run out of battery and the Volt’s 1.4-liter gas engine automatically cuts on, but usually remains a distant hum while roughly matching the MPG of the Cruze (high 20s to mid 40s, depending on driving style and conditions, with a suburban average around 35), and so 10-12 MPG short of a Prius. At its loudest the gas engine remains far quieter than the 1.8 recently sampled in the new Chevrolet Sonic. If GM can achieve such silent running in the Volt, why not in the Sonic? Braking is also smooth and silent in the Volt, with no evident transition between the regenerative system and the conventional brakes. The entire experience of driving the car is distinctively effortless, almost magical.

This isn’t to say that the Volt is a cocoon. The suspension is firmer and more tightly damped than that in the Cruze ECO and there doesn’t seem to be as much road noise insulation. As a result, impacts are more sharply felt and heard, but body motions are also better controlled. The ride remains comfortable, and serious drivers will appreciate the chassis’s moderate level of feedback, which helps compensate for the incommunicative (if well-weighted) steering.

The bottom line: I wasn’t sad to see the Cruze ECO go at the end of the week—it’s a very well done appliance, but an appliance nonetheless—while I very much miss driving the Volt. In twenty years the way the Volt drives will likely seem typical, but we’re not nearly there yet. In the here and now the Volt’s worth $10,000+ more than the Cruze the same way other $30,000+ cars are worth more than the Cruze: by providing a different, more desirable experience.

Chevrolet provided the vehicle, insurance and fuel for this review.

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

With the Cruze, Chevrolet has pulled off a rare combination: segment-leading sales (up 31 percent from last year) at a higher transaction price (up 27 percent from two years ago to $20,465, according to TrueCar). But it hasn’t hurt that the Corolla, Civic, Focus, and Elantra have all been supply constrained. Once competitors get their factories running, does the Cruze have what it takes to maintain its current lead?

A Cruze LTZ is an attractive car, if conservatively styled. When I first saw one in the metal I briefly mistook it for an Audi. But substitute the ECO’s 17-inch forged polished alloy wheels for the LTZ’s five-spoke 18s and…well, what do you think? A forged polished wheel isn’t cheap. It takes a special talent to make one look like a cheap hubcap. I would not have mistaken the bulbous ECO for an Audi.

When both cars are comparably equipped, a C-segment Cruze lists for about $2,000 more than the new B-segment Sonic. That $2,000 pays for a car that’s about eight inches longer and a quarter-ton heavier, but the extra metal in a Cruze doesn’t cost GM more than a few hundred dollars. So, GM didn’t have to pinch its pennies nearly so hard with the Cruze, and this is most clearly evident inside the car, where pretty much everything looks and feels solid, and nothing suggests that you only bought the car because you couldn’t afford a better one. While the Cruze’s styling could hardly be more conventional—you won’t find anything like the Sonic’s instruments here—it does include one aesthetic innovation: heavy-weave cloth upholstery continues from the door panels to the face of the instrument panel. While not as easy to keep clean as plastic (especially in black), it certainly dresses up the place.

When I first reviewed the Cruze last year, I praised it for having separate front and rear seat height adjustments—and on both front seats, no less. I also noted that bean counters have been hunting this feature to extinction. I now fear that my review might have tipped off one on the prowl, for this feature is gone for 2012. Luckily they haven’t attempted to combine the tilt and height adjustments. Given the Cruze’s high cowl and beltline, those of us under six-feet tall must crank the seat up a few clicks to avoid feeling buried in the car, and we don’t necessarily want to also tilt the seat forward. The firm but comfortable driver’s seat continues to feel more substantial than most others in the segment. My glutes detect a healthy helping of top-quality foam. The back seat remains too low to the floor and a bit short on knee room.

The Cruze shares its engines with the Sonic. By driving the latter I learned why the 136-horsepower 1.8-liter four-cylinder engine is not the way to go. Even in the lighter car it feels short on power, deals out much sonic unpleasantness when forced to work, and isn’t stingy with fuel. The 1.4-liter turbocharged four standard in the Cruze is no more powerful at high revs, but has a much plumper midrange, as seen in the peak torque figures: 148 pound-feet from 1,850 rpm rather than 123 at 3,800. What this means: you don’t have to work the 1.4T nearly as hard in typical suburban driving. Though it shakes a bit at idle, the small four is reasonably well-behaved otherwise. Just don’t expect blistering acceleration: 138 horsepower isn’t much for a 3,100-pound car. Like a Toyota Prius, the ECO feels best when driven in an economy-minded fashion—which is of course what this variant with its special “triple overdrive” gearing is all about. The main reason not to do so: the people behind you often seem to be in more of a hurry to get to the next red light. In sixth the small engine is spinning only 2,300 rpm at 75 miles-per-hour. Unlike those in many economy cars, the shifter feels smooth and solid.

And fuel economy? The EPA highway rating of 42 is at the top of the segment, and the city rating of 28 isn’t bad, either. For a number of my suburban drives the trip computer reported low 40s, and in straight highway driving over 50. I averaged a little over 35 for the week. I might wonder how much better it would do if GM had managed to keep the curb weight well under 3,000 pounds, except that the lighter Sonic only manages EPA ratings of 29/ 40 with the same engine. The ECO tweaks appear to make about a ten percent difference in the EPA’s tests. If the trip computer can be trusted, they might make a larger difference with an economy-minded driver in real-world driving. [Update: a Cruze owner informs me that he and others have found the trip computer to be three percent optimistic, so it reads about 1 to 1.5 MPG high.]

Unfortunately, these tweaks also make a difference in how the Cruze ECO handles. The 215/55HR17 Goodyear Assurance tires provide little in the way of grip or crisp steering, lapsing early into a soft, safe slide. The lesson once again: this car is optimized for economy, not hooning. In commuting mode, the Cruze drives very pleasantly, with fairly quick and well-weighted (if numb) steering and a smooth, quiet, thoroughly insulated ride. Body control isn’t as good as in the Ford Focus, with a bit of bobbling about over especially uneven pavement, but is much better than in the Hyundai Elantra.

The list price if you forgo the tested car’s $325 “crystal red metallic tintcoat” paint (which is a waste when paired with the ECO’s wheels anyway): $19,995. A Cruze LT, with EPA ratings of 26/ 38, lists for $770 less. The average driver will earn back the difference in about six years. The higher cost would be more palatable if the ECO’s unique wheels and subtle spoiler substantially improved the appearance of the car, but they don’t.

A Ford Focus SE with Sport and Convenience Packages lists for $20,365, so very close to the ECO. Adjusting for the Cruze’s additional features (most notably a few extra airbags) via TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool widens the gap to about $900 (about $1,300 if you compare the Cruze LT instead).

A Hyundai Elantra GLS with Comfort Package and floormats is much less than the others: $17,300. But adjusting for feature differences narrows the gap to a mere $200. Part of the reason for the huge feature-based price adjustment: opt for a manual transmission, and you can’t get alloy wheels or a Bluetooth connection on the Hyundai. The Hyundai also looks and feels like a less substantial car.

The choice among these three is clear for a driving enthusiast: get the Ford. But hypermilers looking for a comfortable, economical commuter that doesn’t look or feel like a penalty box can’t do much better than the Chevrolet Cruze Eco. While in charge of product development at GM, Bob Lutz put a high priority on refinement, and it shows in this car (much more than in the Sonic). The curb weight took a big hit as a result, punting it nearly into midsize sedan territory, but once the Cruze is doing what its name suggests it does best this seems to have little impact. What’s still missing: as in the Toyotas the Cruze beats at their own game, there’s no sense of occasion, and nothing aside from excellent fuel economy to get excited about.

Chevrolet 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.

I’m not a big fan of changing a car model’s name in an attempt to evade a bad reputation. If the new car isn’t very good, then you’ll just have to change the name again with the next redesign. And if the car is excellent, it will seem even more so thanks to low expectations. In the case of the new B-segment Chevrolet, reviewers might proclaim, “We can’t believe this is an Aveo!” Instead we have, “What’s a Sonic?”

First, a disclaimer: The dealer-sourced Sonic you see here isn’t the one you’ll be reading about elsewhere. It’s not a top-shelf LTZ with a turbocharged 1.4-liter engine, six-speed manual transmission, and 17-inch low-profile tires. Instead, it’s a mid-level LT with the boost-free 1.8-liter base engine, a six-speed automatic, and 195/65R15 rubber optimized for something other than grip. It’s the one you’ll see most often on the road (especially if you’re near an airport). It’s probably not the Sonic you’d personally want.

When I first encountered the Sonic, at last January’s Detroit Auto Show, it might not have been love at first sight, but it was certainly like at first sight. In the displayed LTZ trim, the car had a sportier, more upscale appearance than nearly any other affordable B-segment car then offered on this side of the Atlantic. The nose stylishly arcs back from the oversized (yet not disproportionate) grille. Quad round headlights work surprisingly well within this shape. Though vaguely BMW, here the headlights are exposed (with no lens cover,) staggered, and both attractive and distinctive. Other Chevrolets would benefit from being likewise enlightened.

Unfortunately, any car’s exterior styling is optimized for a wheel of a certain size, and in the Sonic’s case, it’s the LTZ’s 17s. Fit 15s, as seen here, and the massiveness of the chunky front overhang and tall body sides becomes all too apparent. Especially in $195 worth of “inferno orange metallic.” [Note: For $295 you can add 16-inch wheels styled much like the 15s and fog lights to the LT.]

Ford, Mazda, and Hyundai all offer sleeker, more precisely tailored subcompact hatches. In comparison, this Sonic appears a brick on undersized wheels. Nice that said wheels are forged alloys even on the most affordable Sonic, but what’s the point when they’re two sizes too small? Unlike other B-segment cars, the sedan looks better than the hatch, its rear fenders better balance the fronts and it does without a vast expanse of black plastic to “hide” the rear door handle.

The Sonic’s Scionic interior suggests that the new GM might yet retain some of the old one’s wacky Pontiac DNA. We’ve got a round analog tach paired motorcycle-style with a rectangular digital speedometer (itself sandwiched between two rows of warning lights), a mix of round and rectangular air vents, and a pair of tall narrow storage areas flanking the center stack. (Everlasting glory to whomever comes up for the best use for the last. Perhaps hair product?) There’s a lot going on. Yet the look would work if not for the same emphatically hard plastic you’ll find in just about every car at this price point (a Cruze is much nicer inside). The combination elicits Aztek flashbacks. But there are certainly cheaper interiors, and at least the Sonic’s isn’t boring.

With the Sonic’s tall bodysides, GM offers a B-segment car that can bury you as well as a big Buick. Cranking up the supportive seat helps, but you’re still in a different time zone than the windshield. Good for perceived room, not so good for perceived maneuverability. Pre-teen children in back will enjoy a fine view of treetops and clouds. The rear seat cushion is mounted well off the floor, but can’t fully mitigate the stratospheric beltline.

Kudos to GM for making a telescoping steering wheel standard—most competitors don’t offer one. Unfortunately, the center stack doesn’t also telescope, leaving its intuitively arranged soft-touch knobs and buttons, close at hand in most competitors, beyond my reach.

At 5-9, I can barely fit in the second row, but this is about average for the segment. Cargo volume is similarly modest. Safety was clearly a priority: there are ten standard airbags, including front seat knee airbags and rear seat side airbags (the latter aren’t even offered in most cars, and tend to be a $300+ option even in pricey German machinery).

The chassis might be pretty good. It’s hard to say, because of the big car driving position, mute steering, and 195/65R15 Hankook Optima tires that noisily give up the fight before the suspension can enter into it. (The LTZ at least avoids the last, and deserves a follow-up test to see if the chassis retains its composure when actually challenged.) Point the car straight ahead and it rides more quietly and smoothly than most, but without the premium feel of a Ford Fiesta.

Why “Sonic?” The only thing traveling the length of the street at the speed of sound is the loud gargle of the 138-horsepower 1.8-liter four as it clatters its way past 3,000 rpm. As in every competitor you must go there to produce much resembling forward motion, but in this case your ears will hate you for it. Forget stealth. Everyone within earshot will think you’re flogging the car far harder than you actually are. GM worked hard to minimize interior noise, then stuffed this engine in the nose. Baffling.

Last, and least, we have the six-speed automatic transmission. For this conventional unit, GM must have benchmarked the Fiesta’s dual-clutch automated manual transmission for shift logic and smoothness. Bumps, lurches, hesitations, jumping two gears forward only to immediately jump one back—it’s all annoyingly here far too much of the time. Plus engine lugging. The transmission seems unaware that the 1.8 gets the shakes below 1,750 rpm, and takes it there as often as possible. You can manually shift the transmission using a toggle on the knob to avoid some of the misbehavior, but this is a purely practical endeavor. There’s no joy to be had working the mere 1,250 or so rpm between the Scylla of mechanical racket and the Charbydis of engine shakes.

Small car, torque-free four-cylinder, six-speed engine-lugging transmission: it seems a recipe to stellar EPA numbers, doesn’t it? And yet with 25 city / 35 highway the tested car barely manages to tie the much larger, much heavier, considerably more powerful 2012 Toyota Camry.

The solution for all of these powertrain woes? Spend the $700 to get the turbocharged 1.4. It’s no more powerful up top, but has a plumper midrange and, though hardly a paragon of refinement, with its own shakes at idle, is much easier on the ears than the 1.8. Also a six-speed manual and better EPA numbers: 29/40. But it won’t initially be offered with an automatic.

The parts might still require some finessing, but with so much standard (alloy wheels, ten airbags, automatic headlights, four-way steering column adjustment, etc.) there are plenty of them. A 2012 Chevrolet Sonic LT with automatic transmission and the Bluetooth / cruise package lists for $18,090. Though $730 more than last year’s Aveo, a run through TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool tallies up nearly $2,500 in additional features, for a feature-adjusted advantage of about $1,750. A similarly-equipped (but less roomy) Ford Fiesta SE lists for $390 more before adjusting for remaining feature differences, and about $1,300 more afterwards. The redesigned but still 106-horsepower, four-speed Toyota Yaris SE includes $1,500 less stuff in its almost identical list price. A Hyundai Accent SE lists for $535 less, but the feature adjustment reverses this advantage. In every case the Sonic’s additional features more than cancel out any price disadvantage—it’s the value play in the segment.

This has been a much more critical review than I expected to write, given the unexpected refinement in some other recent GM products (Cruze, Volt, Equinox, Regal). The Sonic is much better than the Aveo it replaces…like the 2005 Cobalt was much better than the Cavalier it replaced. Competitors haven’t been standing still. The B-segment has become far more competitive recently, with many new or redesigned entries, each smoother, quieter, and more capable of sustained highway driving than the past norm. Among these, the Fiesta is more refined, the Mazda2 is more fun-to-drive, and the Accent might provide the best combination of both with a semi-livable rear seat. In this flash mob, why buy a Sonic? Its arguable strengths come down to more extroverted styling, a more attractive sedan (for those who lean that way), and additional standard features. But GM has lost too many times playing this hand in the past. Such is the way of the auto industry. Keep aiming to best the old car or the current competition, and you’ll be conjuring up a new model name every generation.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta.com, an online source of car reliability and pricing information.

If you have a pulse and a willful ignorance of the local speed limit, you’re probably not interested in the Chevrolet Spark. If you’re a media-savvy hipster who’s on Facebook sixteen hours a day, you’re probably not interested in the Spark, either. If you’re a techno-geek or an eco-geek, you’re probably still not interested in the Chevrolet Spark.

If you need something to get you from point Alpha to point Beta and aren’t willing to pay too much, you might be interested in the Spark. But only after all the alternatives have been removed from your short-list as being too sensible. And even then, a lobotomy might be required to help you make up your mind.

That’s a shame, because the Spark isn’t really that bad.

The Spark competes in a super-mini class that’s largely ignored in the United States simply because of the lack of motorboat-towing power and decent-sized cupholders. The old Daewoo/Chevrolet Matiz that GM’s global division has been peddling around is even worse than the norm, with a cabin two sizes smaller than the competition and barstools stapled to the floor in lieu of actual car seats. Crash-safety is only noteworthy in the fact that at one time, it scored the infamous “zero stars” on the EuroNCAP tests.

The new Spark is a completely different vehicle. For one, it scores a commendable four stars on the EuroNCAP (missing the fifth for lack of stability control). Unfortunately, they’ve dumped the classic lines of the Guigaro-penned Matiz and replaced it with a deformed, head-shrunken Cruze.

Like the Cruze, it’s the roomiest in its class by a few hair-widths, with legroom more subcompact than super-mini. The seats are still two sizes too small, but they’re comfortable, at least. There’s enough trunk space for about a week’s worth of groceries, and cubbies for oodles of odds and ends. There are even cupholders big enough for Big Gulps.

The Spark tries to pull a Mini by having the instrument gauges mounted on the steering column, but the steering wheel obscures the top of the speedometer and the tiny digital tachometer doesn’t seem to sync up to the engine. The rest of the cabin is nice, though the body-colored trim is tackier than a Dodge Caliber’s. To note: the shiny black cladding around the side mirrors and the hidden rear door handles is pretty pitiful, even for Chevrolet.

On paper, the 1.2 liter engine provides more than enough power and acceleration to satisfy compact owners looking to downsize. Chevrolet claims a 0-62 time of 12.1 seconds. But in reality, you’d be lucky to get within a second of that time. It suffers from the same issues as the 1.8 Cruze, namely a lack of mid-range punch and a pronounced wheeziness near redline. The five speed manual gearbox is well-mated to the meagre power, but finding third is an adventure, hitting fifth is a chore, and finding reverse requires an instruction manual. The mix of rubbery shifter, short gear ratios and laggy tachometer makes overtaking on the highway more exciting than it really ought to be.

On to the good stuff: The Spark drives with some verve. The chassis balance is great, with good body control and composure. While understeer is the car’s default setting, the Spark responds well to throttle-lift and trail-braking. The turning circle is incredibly tight, yet a slow steering ratio keeps it from feeling darty at high speeds. Though it’s not quite Mazda2 keen, the steering wheel actually feels like it’s connected to the front tires, making for a relatively pleasant driving experience.

None of this comes at the expense of the ride, which is supple and absorbent. Even at speeds in excess of 80 mph, which is as fast as you can go without a tail-wind, the Spark feels as stable as a compact car, with minimal wind and road noise. I wish I could say the same about the engine, which sounds ready to explode at higher revs. Despite the mill’s shortcomings, it’s pretty economical, reaching 35-40 mpg in mixed driving. Not at 80 mph, obviously, but hey, you can’t have everything.

I won’t talk much about amenities and gadgets, because a lot can change by the official launch, sometime between now and the twelfth of never. Maybe GM is waiting for everyone to forget the Spark’s debut as the gold-toothed, jive-talking, racist-stereotype “Skids” in “Transformers”. Considering that this abomination of a movie marketing tie-ins has been immortalized in a line of even uglier toys, that may take a while.

Shame, as the Spark is a good little car with virtually no competitors on the US market. But the longer GM waits to release it, the more likely it is that the Spark’s Korean competitors will get there first and ruin the party for the spunky little Daewoo.

Truth seeking is difficult considering the controversy, misinformation and flat-out lies surrounding the Chevrolet Volt. But this is a product with set attributes, some are better or worse than our collective expectations.  The performance reminds me of live music: everyone has an opinion as to how much it rocked.  And the Chevrolet Volt is Jimi Hendrix on wheels: an American likely to influence popular culture for decades after leaving the limelight.  But more importantly, like the influences of jazz and blues in Jimi’s work, the Volt combines Detroit’s future with memorable elements of the past.  It’s true.

Which is painfully obvious in the styling: a mishmash of boring econocar elements with styling cues from the lovely cab-backward design of the Volt concept.  GM Design worked hard to fit the original’s unique bits on the Delta II platform, even the “black eye” window surrounds are crafted nicely enough to look more like a tu-tone paint job, not a cop-out from the concept’s wild window treatment.  That said, it’s another tall and boxy sedan with a big nose, mediocre coefficient of drag and an afterthought-looking hatchback that does little to improve visibility.  Black is certainly the best color.

Not necessarily true inside: the Volt embraces its passenger sedan platform from within, adding CB2-worthy flair to keep the Corolla references at bay.  GM’s corporate center stack gets an extreme iPod makeover with Volvo’s signature negative space just for fun. The buttonage is less intuitive than your average cell phone, but it’s a short learning curve.  Speaking of, the dual-cove dash comes with hard, bright plastic accents that follow around the door’s armrests in a distinctly elbow-averse manner. No matter, the dashtop cubby, (optional) lime green trim and stitched armrests make excellent fodder for Hybrid-owner smugness.

Seat comfort is almost plush, with Corvette-like leather wrapping and matching lime green contrast. Speaking of, there are squidgy plastics where needed and (much to the Chevy Vega’s dismay) the best trimmed glove box in GM’s portfolio.  While rear seat legroom isn’t plentiful, there’s space for two adults between the low-slung console. Perhaps the Volt’s derivative platform is to blame again, taller rear passengers benefit from a warning before closing the hatchback: crushed hats and squashed hair Über Alles.

Driving requires no such precautions. Aside from the “green ball in a tube” efficiency gauge a la economy meter on BMWs, a drive around downtown Houston was an afternoon in the Land of the Lotus Eaters. The ride is controlled, close to silent, and luxury car plush with minimal suspension crashing on bad bumps.  Credit the almost 3800lb curb weight and cushy suspension for that.

Natural-feeling torque management (yes, really) reduces the Volt’s gutsy powertrain to that of a normal vehicle. Steering is lifeless on-center, but turns to the slow and confident responses expected from an American sedan with a few degrees of input.  The brakes are a surprise: light and linear with no grabbing sensations from the battery regeneration hardware.  I couldn’t push the Volt hard, but it’s clear that this ride subscribes to the straight line school of thought.

This is more relevant on America’s stock in trade: the Interstate. Freeway sweepers highlight the smooth and confident steering/braking/handling of many a US-spec sedan. And the Volt is no exception.  Merging in traffic is accomplished with diesel-like effort with only a hushed “whir” from the engine compartment.  It was an absolutely thrilling, if subtle, change to my commute. And that was the wakeup call: the Volt’s unique-but-expected driving demeanor is everything America loves from Detroit’s cushy ride, torque-rich V8 past with everything we expect from our energy independent future. Clarkson’s grinding his xenophobic axe, but Hendrix fans appreciate the duality.

Which instills a (hopeless?) optimism that things can only get better from here, even if both Volts I tested showed MPG figures in the high 30’s. Which was what I earned via hypermiling a $14,000 Cobalt XFE that was far more entertaining in a corner. So I’m not here to complain about/justify the Volt’s numbers, either on a MPG or kWh basis. It’s a moot point since the manufacturing justifications, limited production, loyal fan base and limitless potential in the second generation are in the Volt’s favor.

And I never drove long enough to kick-on the underhood ICE, as Chevy recharged their Volt fleet whenever possible, using hotels that willingly pay extra for Texas’ Green-sourced power. Okay, I made that last part up.

Should you fork over $35-ish grand (incentivized) for a Volt? Being on the bleeding edge of technology is a thrill for many. And this is the 1953 Corvette for a new generation, with its antiquated kingpin suspension and stop-gap straight six motor intact. And that implies a promise: the Chevy Volt has limited production with unlimited appeal. Like any other Detroit Icons from yesteryear, it is an instant classic that must be experienced to fully appreciate.

(I attended the Chevy Volt tour as a registered guest, not a media participant. It was held in Houston’s version of Central Park, building awareness with Texans who avoid the long commutes of a suburban dweller. Thanks to my brother giving hot laps in his Corvette ZR1 for the Volt staffers, TTAC got a closer look. Shockingly, a Chevy Volt arrived at our door the next evening to experience on roads that encompass my normal commute, including highways, light traffic and piss-poor pavement in less-than-desirable neighborhoods.)



We’ve been hearing about the Chevrolet Volt for so long that it’s hard to believe that it is finally here. Or almost here. Close enough for a preview drive. And?

I never expected the Volt to look like the obviously impractical original concept. Similarly, I was not surprised that the production Volt resembles a prettified Prius, since the Toyota’s styling so successfully communicates its advanced technology to the general population. The most questionable aspect of the exterior design: the ultra-wide glossy black beltline moldings. They’re intended to disguise the small size of the side windows. Why not just make the windows larger? Because this would increase the load on the battery-powered AC.

Does the Volt’s interior seem like that of a $33,500 (post tax credit) car? Well, no. I was more impressed by the materials and workmanship of the much more conventional interior in the related, much less expensive, conventionally powered Cruze. But the Volt’s interior is distinctively styled, effectively communicates the car’s technology, and is significantly nicer than the interior in the Prius. If the Prius interior is good enough for a nearly $27,000 car (with nav)—and sales suggest that it is—then the Volt’s is good enough for a $33,500 car. Don’t care for the glossy white iPodish trim? Then get the dark trim instead. The reconfigurable LCD displays seem to provide a wealth of information, including a grade on your driving style (92 while I was trying to behave). But they provide no clear indication of when braking is hard enough to engage the conventional brakes (reducing efficiency). Also, no report of miles per kW-h while running off electricity. According to the GM exec in the back seat, few people desire such numerical statistics. Though GM will be adding features in the future—the Volt will be a work in progress. And more detailed reports are already available on the Internet, where the Volt regularly uploads data via OnStar. The controls on the center stack are the touch-sensitive type that recently debuted in the 2011 Ford Edge and Lincoln MKX. Whether or not you like them—I do—they’re the future. The oddest bit among the various odd bits of the interior: you must reach into a cave at the base of the center stack to grasp the shifter when it’s in Park.

The rake of the distant windshield is reasonable, obviating the need for windowlettes ahead of the doors. In the current GM fashion, the A-pillars are thick, if not quite to the point where they reduce safety more than they enhance it. Rearward visibility is considerably worse—the optional Park Assist Package is highly recommended. The front seats don’t feel as substantial or as solidly upholstered as those in the Cruze, but they do provide decent lateral support. Unlike in the Cruze, there’s only a single manual height adjustment, so the tilt of the seat cannot be adjusted. The rear seats are the weakest aspect of the car. Low to the floor, overly firm, and cramped, unless you’re a child (or the size of one) you won’t be comfortable. Cargo volume beneath the wiperless hatch is similarly marginal, but will do for typical around town errands. The Prius offers considerably more room for both rear passengers and cargo.

The Volt’s powertrain is more complex than previously imagined. Around town with the battery pack at a viable level of charge, the primary 149-horsepower electric motor-generator powers the car through a fixed gear ratio. At highway speeds this ratio becomes too short, so a second, smaller motor-generator engages the planetary gearset to reduce the ratio. Once the battery pack is depleted (figure 30-50 miles), a 84-horsepower 1.4-liter gas engine automatically starts. Around town it spins the smaller motor-generator to send power to the primary motor-generator via the battery pack. At highway speeds with the battery pack depleted, the second motor-generator again engages the planetary gearset to vary the transmission ratio, but now with the gas engine coupled to it. In this last mode the gas engine enjoys a mechanical connection to the front wheels. While this mechanical connection has purists a little perturbed, it is more efficient when running on gasoline. Personally, I’d prefer a mechanical connection at lower speeds for the same reason, though perhaps the powertrain design, with the engine only driving the planetary gearset through the smaller motor-generator, precludes this.

So, what does it all feel like? Surprisingly normal. I feared that a gas engine decoupled from the drivetrain and running to suit the needs of the battery would sound odd. Would the engine sometimes be racing while sitting at a traffic light? As it turns out, no. If anything, the Volt’s engine sounds less disconnected from the accelerator than that in the typical CVT-equipped conventional car. Transitions among the various modes are not only smoother than those in the Prius or Ford Fusion Hybrid, but are nearly undetectable. In some situations the engine might be a little too undetectable, as it sometimes generates a low frequency rumble right at the edge of perception. A barely perceptible noise can be more annoying than one a bit louder.

GM suggests that, given the high torque output of the primary motor-generator, the Volt feels about as strong at low speeds as a V6-powered sedan. Well, not really. But even with four adults aboard the Volt does feel considerably more energetic than a Prius, and almost as quick as the Ford Fusion Hybrid. Three driving modes are available, including one for mountains and “sport.” I detected little difference between normal and sport, apparently because my foot was too heavy. The modes make the most difference with the pedal less than half way to the floor. Moving the shifter from D to L aggressively engages brake-energy regeneration whenever you lift off the accelerator, nearly eliminating the need to use the brake pedal. I found this too aggressive for typical around town driving, but it would no doubt be welcome on a hilly road.

Only the first five miles of my drive were on battery power—there hadn’t been much time for a recharge since the car’s previous outing. I then babied the car for a while, and achieved about 35 MPG. The second half of my drive—when I was seeking the claimed V6-like low-speed performance—burned a gallon of gas every 28 miles. These figures are about five MPG short of the Fusion Hybrid when subjected to similar (mis)treatment, and about 10 to 15 MPG short of the Prius. GM envisioned the gas engine as backup power which most owners would not need often, so it was optimized for cost not fuel economy. They also talk about improving this aspect of the Volt in future iterations, with just about anything a potential future power source.

The biggest surprise: the Volt handles significantly better than either the Cruze or the Prius. GM has long demonstrated a talent for making cars feel larger and heavier than they actually are. With the Volt they’ve at long last accomplished the (for me at least) more desirable opposite. The steering isn’t exactly chatty, but through it even a fully occupied Volt feels light and agile, with minimal understeer, far exceeding my expectations. In contrast, even the latest Prius feels oddly heavy and pushes wide in turns. While the Volt is still certainly no sports car—even the Ford Fusion Hybrid feels a little sportier—it’ll serve well as a commuter. I sincerely hope the Volt team shares its chassis tuning tricks with the rest of GM.

Body motions are fairly well controlled, though some additional damping would be welcome. The Volt’s ride is a little firmer, busier, and noisier than that in the Cruze, but the Cruze rides better than anything else in its class. The Volt’s does ride better than the Prius and Fusion Hybrid. Among efficiency-maximizing alt-energy cars, this is about as good as it gets.

People have been critical of the Volt’s pricing, but a $7,500 tax credit brings the net MSRP down to $33,500. Nearly everything, including nav and the fancy displays, is standard. Options are limited to heated leather seats, the Park Assist Package, and polished wheels. TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool suggests that the Prius lists for about $4,000 less when both cars are equipped with leather, nav, and 17-inch alloys. A Ford Fusion Hybrid with nav lists for only $1,150 less. Adjust for feature differences (most notably a sunroof, unavailable on the Volt), and the Ford’s advantage increases to about $3,000. Adding leather to both cars adds about $1,000 to both figures—Ford kicks in additional savings when all of the boxes are checked. Three or four grand isn’t pocket change, but it seems reasonable for the Volt’s extended electric-only capability. Likely a better value: GM is offering a lease for $2,500 down and $350 a month.

So, my first drive of the Chevrolet Volt included a few surprises, nearly all of them to the upside. The largest: oddly enough, the handling. The powertrain most impressed with its normalcy. The largest disappointment: the small rear seat. GM has clearly put a great deal of thought and effort into this car, and achieved a much higher level of detailed execution and refinement than I thought possible just a few years ago. My personal commute extends all the way from the second floor of my home to the first. So no Volt for me. But if you daily spend an hour or two commuting, and the thought of expending no gas in the process excites you, then go ahead and get in line. At least initially, there’s likely to be one.

GM provided the vehicle, insurance and very little gasoline for this review

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

For a vehicle named after a unit of measure, the Chevrolet Volt is a difficult car to pin down. From its drivetrain to its efficiency rating, the Volt defies categorization. From price point to performance, it defies comparison. It’s a rolling contradiction, this car, part electric car and part gas-burner, part high-concept moonshot and part workmanlike commuter. And yet for all its mysteries, contradictions and (yes) compromises, the Volt is also a deceptively simple car to use. Which makes it what exactly?

Let’s start with the easy stuff. Whether posed or on-the-go, the Volt’s styling exudes a sense of quiet anonymity; it’s distinctive compared to anonymous C-segment sedans like the Chevy Cruze it’s based on, but it lacks the Leaf’s sense of eco-occasion. Cues from the bold Volt Concept cut through its windtunnel-defined shape, but they seem tacked-on rather than integral to the overall design. As a result, the American take on Prius design values ends up looking a bit disjointed in three dimensions.

Not that the locals of the Detroit Metro area seem to mind. Kids gawk at the Volt from backseats, and employees at donut shops ask if “that’s one of them Volts.” It never gets mobbed, but the reaction is always some variation of “sweet.”  After years of hype, the Volt may not exactly be a rockstar, but it’s at least a popular indie artist with a crossover single or two.

But complex characters can struggle achieving mainstream appeal, and the Volt is no exception. Underneath its hood lurks a combination of clutches, gears, motors and an engine that, like any other hybrid system, continuously varies its operations based on conditions and input. Unlike any other hybrid, however, the Volt emphasizes all-electric range, and returns “25-50″ miles of it as advertised. Using moderate hypermiling techniques, the Volt will cross 45 miles of board-flat Michigan terrain, but stretching the range further requires antisocial levels of right foot restraint.

And most drivers won’t be tempted to go easy on the Volt’s “gas” pedal. At full throttle, the Volt cruises seamlessly to freeway speeds with quiet competence, giving no reason to doubt its nine second-ish 0-60 time. At lower throttle positions, however, the “instant torque” promise of the Volt’s electric drivetrain has been computer mapped away in favor of better efficiency. “Sport mode” provides more direct access to the torque at lower throttle positions (“Sport” and “Normal” mode pedal maps are identical at over 80% throttle), but GM’s engineers say the mode encourages inefficient driving… even though they prefer it themselves.

But switching into “Sport” isn’t the only change the discerning driver will want to make before taking off in the Volt. Move the chunky gear lever past “Drive” into “Low,” and a regenerative engine-braking effect slows the Volt as soon as you get off the “gas.” Combined with the more precise pedal feel of “Sport” mode, this setting concentrates the driver on matching throttle position with road conditions, and (with a little luck and planning) allows nearly brake pedal-free driving. It’s just too bad that the Volt’s most satisfying and engaging setting requires two separate settings changes from default.

But despite the need for options-menu fiddling and all its underlying complexity, the Volt’s drivetrain largely leaves a good impression of seamless power. Though it lacks the pure instant torque of an non-throttle-mapped EV, it also lacks the two-mode feel of a parallel hybrid. Where a Prius would juggle between a weak gas engine and strong electric torque, the Volt simply eases forward on a non-stop (if unhurried) wave of power. It’s a point-and-shoot experience that lends some credence to the Volt’s pretensions of mass-market accessibility, and when the battery’s music stops, the transition to range-extended mode is admirably unobtrusive. In fact, the only time the Volt’s gas engine really registers is in high-load throttle applications after the jump to gas-generated power. Only then does the 1.4 liter engine rev hard enough to be heard as well as felt through the pedal, but the experience is surprisingly normal until you ease off the throttle and the low-frequency engine noises bounce around a bit before settling back into a wallflower grumble.

In a parked Volt, the steering wheel exhibits GM-typical lightness, allowing for effortless parking lot operation. On the road, the tiller firms up ever so slightly, but never generates a truly feelsome experience. But what the steering lacks in feel, it makes up for with sharpness, translating subtle wheel movements into crisp direction changes. With its 400+ pound battery mounted so low to the road and towards the rear of the vehicle, the Volt’s center of gravity is low and central, giving the car far better handling characteristics than its concept and weight figure would lead one to believe. Eventually it will push forward over its front wheels, revealing its low-rolling-resistance tires as the weak link in the handling equation. Still, at legal speeds, the Volt’s handling is plenty sharp. In the real world, the Volt’s relatively modest power output would be the far more limiting factor.

If quiet competence defines the Volt’s powertrain and handling, the ride is on roughly the same page. Body stiffness is admirable, and road noise is remarkably well-controlled, even when there’s no gas engine noise to drown out the tire thrum. Over rough Michigan roads, the Volt’s 3,781 lb curb weight finally comes into play, as potholes raise the first signs of unseemly juddering. There’s hardly any feedback through the wheel, but the seat of your pants will be sure to let you know when the Volt gets unsettled. Luckily, the shifter’s “Low” position ensures that maintaining composure is as easy as lifting off the throttle.

For most drivers, however, many of these observations might seem nit-picky. The reality is that, if driven in the detached American style, the Volt is incredibly easy to get along with. Its commuter appliance roots and mission are in full evidence, and the sharper “Sport” mode and motor-braking “Low” speed add a few welcome wrinkles for the more engaged driver. It’s unmistakeably a “real car,” and GM’s engineers deserve credit for translating Bob Lutz’s bold vision and its complex Two-Mode Hybrid-derived innards into such a harmonious, approachable whole.

But the Volt is more than just its engineering, and the cabin experience is where the reality of executing such an ambitious program begins to show. Clearly much of the Volt’s $41k pricetag is spent on its unique and surprisingly-refined drivetrain, which left GM’s interior designers and accountants with more than a few challenges. Interior design continues the theme established by the exterior: an unremarkable whole punctuated by seemingly tacked-on design cues that rescue the look from pure mediocrity but still come up short of a coherent design. Acres of soft-ish black plastic is broken up by hard plastic door inserts that sweep into distinctive flat-topped shelf elements which wrap across the dashboard, but none of these elements has a sense of purpose beyond “adding design.” And the door inserts don’t exactly improve the quality impression, especially when outfitted with an available graphics package.

The dramatic center console dominates the stripped down dash, with a glossy hard-plastic design that invites inevitable comparisons to an Apple iPod. Good materials and novel touch-sensitive controls help lift the cockpit’s overall quality impression, although the pop culture reference point is a bit obvious and under-inspired. Worse still, it fails utterly to live up to the promise of its Apple-alike styling when it comes to the user experience. The lack of button definition and intuitive layout mean you spend a lot of time looking for even basic controls like H/VAC, and subtle labeling doesn’t make the search any easier. The lesson is clear: an iPod covered in buttons is no iPod at all.The Volt may have little to no learning curve when it comes to driving, but in-car controls will take some time to adjust to.

The not-quite-an-iPod feel continues with the seven-inch screens that crown the center console and make up the Volt’s instrument panel. Some functions require input from the console’s buttons and wheels, some require touchscreen inputs, meaning more learning curve and more distraction. The division of labor between the traditional instrument panel and the console screen is also confusing, as “drive mode” selection requires pushing a button on the central console, but the options are displayed in the IP. Gear selection is also hampered by its tiny readout located far from the action in the top right corner of the IP. Sure, the Volt’s two screens look fantastic and can display a wealth of information about everything from your driving style and energy usage to navigation and music, but more thought needs to go into the user experience before it’s anywhere near as approachable as the rest of the vehicle’s operations.

Leg, head and hip room are more than sufficient up front, and though the seats lack definition and lumbar support, they didn’t cause outright discomfort (although older backs should spend some time in them before buying). Leather seats and steering wheel bring the Volt a little closer to a price-appropriate quality impression, but cost extra. The manual seat adjustment lever and parts-bin window switches hurt the quality picture the worst.

Backseat accommodations are considerably less plush, as rear legroom is largely a function of the size (and consideration) of the person seated in front of you. Still, four adults can be seated with sufficient leg comfort, although nothing will prevent a six-footer from bumping their head against the Volt’s long rear hatch. Between the poor headroom, more road noise filtering through the hatchback, and the cheap hard plastic console covering what would be the middle seat (which is home to the Volt’s battery), the backseat is one of the Volt’s bigger disappointments. Still, it’s not “avoid at all costs” uncomfortable, and should suffice for the kind of short trips that the Volt tackles most efficiently.

As indicated earlier, getting 40 miles of EV range from a fully-charged Volt in relatively flat terrain was not a momentous challenge. In this respect, the Volt lives up to its most basic promise. In range-extended or “charge sustaining” mode, after the EV range has been used up, indicated average fuel economy readings ranged from about 32 MPG to about 38 MPG. Attempts to get sub-30 MPG mileage on rural roads were thwarted, although a greater disrespect for posted speed limits (and more varied topography) might have made it achievable. Still, 35 MPG should be readily available, and hypermilers might well see more (at least until they’re shot by a road-raging commuter). This isn’t stop-the-presses efficient, and GM emphasizes that its range extender is about freedom more than getting the most for each gallon of gas. Helpfully, Onstar offers a smartphone app and online usage tracking to help time, and optimize charge-ups, even alerting the driver via text message when charging is complete.

The general impression of the Volt, then, is a mixed bag. Especially once carefully explained, the Volt’s drivetrain inspires serious engineer awe, all the more so because its operation is so seamless and simple for even inexperienced drivers. The fact that it salvages know-how from the disastrous Two-Mode Hybrid program makes it all the more appealing: GM used some already-broken eggs for this omelet. Still, it’s clear that the Volt’s revolutionary drivetrain and hefty battery dominated development, leaving such details as design, quality impression, backseat accommodations and user interface for non-driving controls short of money and attention. On the other hand, those who appreciate the Volt’s unique ability to drive 40 miles on electricity with unlimited range thereafter will not be overly vexed by these compromises.

Strangely then, the decision to buy a Volt comes relentlessly back to the two factors we’ve known for some time: the drivetrain and the price. This is, ultimately, an endorsement of the Volt in the sense that it does exactly what it’s supposed to without drama or unreasonable sacrifice (beyond the price point). And since the Volt will no more be purchased for purely economic reasons than will a Nissan Leaf or Toyota Prius, the absolute uniqueness of what it is able to accomplish makes the $41k base price seem considerably more reasonable. After all, for the price of an anonymous Mercedes C350, you can have something that’s increasingly rare in the automotive landscape: a truly unique vehicle with a drivetrain unlike any other, and the option of doing much of your daily driving free from the gas pump. It’s one choice in the growing segment of alt-drivetrain vehicles, and if you have the money and inclination, it’s not one to be dismissed out of hand. Until we learn more about living with the Volt from long-term testing, comparisons with emerging competitors and consumer reporting, however, our sense of this complex car and its role in the marketplace will remain clouded.

General Motors provided airfare, accommodations, meals and entertainment for this review. What entertainment, you ask? Dinner on the final day of testing was held at a go-kart facility, to which attending writers and PR staff were given free access. For what it’s worth, your humble correspondent was able to record the fastest lap amongst the attending journalists, and scored the fourth-fastest lap at the track in the month of October.

About once per decade since the 1960s, GM has introduced a compact car that was going to slaughter the imports, only to have it flop miserably: Corvair, Vega,  Cavalier, Saturn (Chevrolet focused on trucks during the 1990s), Cobalt. Okay, including the last isn’t quite fair. It was introduced with much less hype, and ironically didn’t fare too badly. And now, the Chevrolet Cruze. Not too much hype—that’s for the Volt. But has GM finally figured out how to build a class-leading compact sedan?

A couple years ago at the Detroit auto show (NAIAS) I was puzzled by the presence of an Audi A4 in the Chevrolet area. Then I realized it was actually the new Cruze. Shod with 19-inch five-spoke alloys and painted candy apple red, the small sedan really grabbed the eye. With 16-inch steelies and painted appliance white, like the car I drove for this review, not so much. Make that not at all.  One detail the car would look better without: the (Sebring-inspired?) chrome-underlined black triangle aft of the rear door. When the designers want to go one way and the engineers want to go another, this is not a viable solution.

The real story is inside the car. The Cruze’s interior is not only infinitely better than that of the Cobalt, but easily best-in-class. The plastics look and feel very high in quality. And, thanks to the fabric trim panels on the doors and dash, the ambiance isn’t one of plastic, plastic, and more plastic. The doors even close with a Teutonic whumpf (that continues to elude Cadillac) and feel rock solid in the process. The Kia and Mitsubishi compacts I drove the same afternoon felt like junk in comparison. Even the much more expensive Audi that provided design inspiration could learn a thing or two.

And that’s not all there is to love about the interior. The front seats are outstanding, moderately firm without being too firm and providing support in all of the right places. Why don’t the CTS and Corvette have seats this good? Front and rear seat height is separately adjustable—for both seats. While these adjustments used to be common for the driver’s seat in affordable cars, bean counters have been hunting it to extinction. The seating position is low, so all but the tallest drivers will want to take advantage of them. Unfortunately, there’s no such solution for GM’s typical ultra-thick A-pillars. The leather wrapped steering wheel, which tilts and telescopes, is a joy to grip. The HVAC and audio controls have a quality feel and are well-designed, with knobs for major functions. For once, the General truly seems to have sweated the details.

The worst thing about the interior? The rear seat is low to the floor, and rear knee room is in short supply. I’m only 5-9 but had at most an inch to spare when sitting behind myself. Trunk space is better, but if you want a hatch you’re SOL.

The only engines currently offered are a 136-horsepower 1.8-liter four and a 138-horsepower turbocharged 1.4-liter four. The point of the latter? Torque—148 pound-feet from 1,850 rpm rather than 123@3800—and (to a lesser extent) MPG—24/36 instead of 22/35. A special “ECO” variant manages 40 on the highway test when pairing the turbo 1.4 with a six-speed manual. But that’s a late intro—initially there’s only a six-speed automatic, manually shiftable in the LT. During a spirited suburban test drive I observed 24. High 20s should be the norm in casual driving about town, with 30s on the highway.

The Cruze weighs over 3,100 pounds, so the tiny turbo four has its work cut out for it. Though free of lag, this engine vibrates at idle (an exception to the generally high level of refinement) and often sounds like it’s working hard. The transmission shifts frequently in a failed bid to make the engine seem energetic, but does not react promptly to manual inputs. Let’s just say there’s little here that the powertrain from the Cobalt SS wouldn’t fix.

Handling similarly begs for the SS treatment. As is, the Cruze feels compact but heavy. Agility isn’t part of the equation. The steering is fairly quick, but numb. The suspension has a commendable tautness to it thanks to well-tuned dampers, but the priority was clearly on a smooth, quiet ride. Mission accomplished: the Cruze thoroughly insulates the driver from the driving experience.

Chevrolet clearly did not intend the Cruze LT for enthusiasts. But auto makers have learned the hard way that there simply aren’t many enthusiasts who truly appreciate—and will pay for—communicative steering and an agile chassis. The typical car buyer would much rather have a high quality interior, refined ride, and fuel economy. In these respects the Cruze is a shockingly good car. After decades of failed attempts, GM has finally managed to out-Toyota Toyota.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta, an online source of car reliability and fuel economy information.

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The third-generation Camaro, so much swoopier than anything else on the road back in 1982, looked more like a concept car than a production car. The throaty V8, though pitifully weak by today’s standards, at the time was easily capable of getting a 14-year-old’s pulse racing. Some critics dinged the car for its impractical packaging, size, and weight, but I didn’t care. I wanted one, badly. Never did get one. By the time I could afford a Camaro, I agreed with the critics. From frenzied test drives in the Toyota Corolla GT-S and Honda CRX I learned the joys of high-revving multi-valve engines and agile handling. GM recently introduced a fifth-generation Camaro. What has it learned in the last 28 years?

In form and spirit, the 2010 car’s big, bold exterior is very much that of a Camaro. My 14-year-old self would have loved it. I thought my kids would love it, but instead they seemed puzzled that a car with such exaggerated styling could exist outside of a cartoon. Many people do clearly love the look of the new car, and virtually everyone has a strong opinion about it. GM deserves credit for crafting a shape that is at once current and readily identifiable with its ancestors. The lesson not learned: the racier the styling, the shorter the shelf life. Sales have been strong so far, but where will they be in 2012?

Size remains a big issue. Compared to previous generations, the new Camaro is about as long (190.4”), wider (75.5”) and heavier (3,860 lbs.). The original Camaro was based on a compact car platform. The new one is based on GM’s largest car platform. You’d never guess that gas prices reached record highs during the car’s gestation. Another lesson not learned.

Check out the 2010 Camaro’s back seat, preferably from a safe distance, and as with past iterations you’ll wonder where all of those exterior inches went. Adults who don’t regularly practice yoga simply don’t fit beneath the low roof. My skinny nine-year-old son complained about the lack of room and his inability to see out of the small, high-mounted windows. His comment on the car: “Everything is big except what you want to be big, and that’s small.”

Slide between the widely-spaced bolsters of the front seat, though, and you’ll wonder if the Camaro was designed for giants. You sit low behind a hulking instrument panel. Both the deeply dished steering wheel and shifter are super-sized: Camaro drivers best have big, manly hands. The retro-styled interior possesses some interesting elements, but it’s overly plasticky. The silver-painted trim bits are so thick they come across as clunky. The bulging center stack with its pair of oversized round HVAC controls (I’ll avoid references to the female anatomy) appears more 1990s GM than late 1960s. Sometimes there’s a fine line between retro and dated. The most attractive part of the interior: the door sill trim plates. Too bad they’re no longer visible once you clunk the door shut.

The windshield is much more upright than with the third-generation Camaro, and perhaps even the second—a retro touch I can definitely live with. Sitting low and gazing over a long hood as the V8 rumbles provides a badass feeling you just cannot get in a Mustang. Visibility? It’s as bad as everyone says, but still livable.

When paired with the six-speed manual, the 2010 Camaro’s 6.2-liter V8 puts out 426 horsepower at 5,900 rpm. Years ago GM claimed they could get pushrod engines to breathe well at high rpm, and they’re rightly proud of the peak output they’ve been able to wring from this one. But there are downsides to this approach. With only two valves per cylinder, breathing cannot be optimized separately for low and high rpm. So tune for high rpm breathing and the low end suffers. The 6.2’s torque peak is a fairly lofty 4,600 rpm, so there are only 1,300 rpm between the peaks.

Then there’s the way the Camaro’s engine sounds and feels when racing for the redline. Its raucous roar (with stray mechanical undertones) borders on violent, with much of this violence seemingly directed towards the engine’s own internals. Put another way, under hard acceleration at high rpm the big V8 sounds like it wants to tear itself apart. At the other end of the spectrum, the idle is a bit lumpy, which is typical of a cammy old-school V8.

Shift feel is similarly unrefined. Throws are moderate in length, but can feel clunky, and in casual driving it takes conscious effort to shift the car smoothly. Go too easy on the throttle in first and the shifter will take you straight to forth, an old GM trick to bump the EPA rating. The V8 is torquey, but shifting into fourth so early still lugs it. Even if this feature is avoided—and I didn’t encounter it at all the first few days I had the car—the gearing feels too tall. Fuel economy ranged from 13 in hard driving to low 20s on the highway. Figure 16 and change in moderately aggressive driving around town—nearly the same I observed in an Altima Coupe.

Then there’s the chassis, which seems to have received all of the refinement the rest of the car did not. The nicely weighted steering doesn’t communicate much, and the Camaro handles like the large, heavy car that it is. But body roll is restrained without killing the ride quality, and the precision with which the car can be steered with the right foot (a trait shared with the late, lamented Pontiac G8 and the Corvette) should serve as an example for other manufacturers. (Nissan, I’m talking to you.) Add in good balance and very grippy tires, and you’ll rarely come anywhere near the Camaro’s limits on public roads.

In the final analysis, outside of the chassis GM hasn’t learned much in the last 28 years. Some things they didn’t need to learn. The driving position might compromise visibility, but without it the Camaro wouldn’t be a Camaro. And a Camaro should be boldly styled and chock full of big, vocal V8. But the fifth-generation car is at least a half-size too large, a few hundred pounds too heavy, and far too unrefined. Sure, a Camaro should be raw, but not raw all over. Like hair that has been painstakingly styled to appear disheveled, rawness must be carefully distributed. The bits that enhance the driving experience should be retained, even amplified—as raw as it is, the Camaro could feel more visceral. But the other rough edges, that cheapen the car and disrupt the driving experience, should be excised. The good news: the chassis would be the hardest thing to fix with the refresh that needs to happen before the styling goes stale.

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

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

I was born in 1971 and started actively reading about cars in 1976, subscribing to Car and Driver and absorbing the work of men such as LJK Setright, Gordon Jennings, and Gordon Baxter. Those men were waiting for America to create a truly outstanding small car, one that could meet the Germans (and, later, the Japanese) on equal ground and beat them in a fair fight. More particularly, since General Motors was the acknowledged leader of the American automotive industry, they were waiting for GM to create the Great American Small Car.

Those men are gone now, as dead as Julius Caesar and not nearly as well-remembered. I am standing here, waiting in their stead, waiting patiently for the Great American Small Car, waiting for General Motors to fulfill the promise they’ve made to us for nearly fifty years now.

The 2011 Chevrolet Cruze is a good car, although at least part of its goodness comes from the fact that it isn’t really that small. It’s well-positioned against the Civic and Corolla. I believe that it beats both of those cars in significant, measurable ways. This is what it is: a good car, a bold car, a car for which no purchaser need make an excuse or feel any concern. This is what it might be: great. That’s for the buyer to decide. This is what it is not: American.

You are looking at the Cruze’s not-so-secret weapon: an interior that represents a Cloverfield-sized leap past the competition. It’s part Cadillac CTS, part Buick LaCrosse, part Chevrolet Malibu, and unmistakably GM in the way the exterior does not quite manage to be. Forget the Civic or Corolla. From the touchable dash panels to the big, comfy seats, the Cruze is fitted-out to compare directly with Accords and Maximas. The interior is spacious. Visibility is outstanding. On the road, the Cruze is genuinely quiet — not from an overabundance of insulation, but from thoughtful design. The harsh, annoying frequencies disappear, allowing the stereo to shine even at low volume. Never before has a car of this size been so relaxing to run down the freeway for four adult passengers.

In this class, iPod integration matters more than raw power, and the Cruze shines here, offering fast, no-excuses access to my 138GB of music. The rest of the “HMI” doesn’t match up to Ford standards; in terms of usability and feature content, it’s closer to what you would expect to find in the Korean competition. Still, it’s at least in the ballpark with the class leaders.

Awww, look at the baby engine! This is the 1.4 Ecotec Turbo. GM is positioning this as the “upscale” engine in the range. It produces about the same horsepower as, but far more “area under the curve” than, the standard-equipment 1.8 normally-aspirated Ecotec. The ostensible reason for delaying the Cruze introduction in the United States was to make sure this engine was ready for prime time, although surely the massive expense of changing Lordstown from Cobalt to Cruze production also factored into that decision.

No matter. If you’d bought a Cruze last year with a 1.8, you would probably wish you had the 1.4 turbo instead. This is a sound, cheerful, strong-enough motor, producing a nice long plateau of torque from 1700rpm on and making it easy to drive on light throttle. In recognition of the fact that TTAC readers don’t necessarily care how quickly the big little Chevy can run down a two-lane, during my drive time I chose to focus on a different aspect of “performance”. Faced with a twisty, elevation-change-laden twenty miles of bad (meaning good) road, I gripped the wheel…

…drove the speed limit, maximized economy and smoothness, and was rewarded with an average of 36.8mpg. This wasn’t a freeway snooze drive; it was chock-full of marked 25mph switchbacks, big climbs, and plenty of descending, decreasing-radius stuff. Never did the Cruze feel out of breath despite the light throttle openings, and never did the engine feel inadequate.

The same cannot be said for the transmission. DSG and Powershift have made this torque-converter box obsolete in the class. While it offers a full six ratios compared to Toyota’s four, this is a transmission that is always in motion, always shifting, and always intruding on the experience. It should be junked, and soon. If you’re considering a Cruze, get the manual transmission. It wasn’t made available for us to drive, but it can’t be worse.

This new GM “world car” platform offers a “Z-link” rear torsion-beam suspension that seems to improve the so-called secondary ride a bit. This is a car that absorbs road imperfections very well, beating both the Civic and Corolla provided for comparison. That’s right: Chevrolet was confident enough to include two of the four heavy-hitters to the party. The Civic was a more enthusiastic vehicle, and far more fun to hustle along the back roads, but it cannot match the Cruze for features, space, fuel mileage, or interior ambiance. The Corolla has simply outlived its competitiveness, period. The Focus, had it been present, would have easily shown-up the Cruze on over-the-road pace and interface design but would have struggled with noise and interior quality perception. The Elantra would have been a tougher nut to crack, given that it is a massive improvement over its precedessor. Still, none of these cars can “waft” like the Cruze… and who would have thought that word would ever apply to a car that traces its spiritual lineage to the Chevette?

For drivers who are not particularly worried about over-the-road sportiness, the Cruze could very well be the current class leader, and it’s likely to hold that position at least until the next “Euro” Ford Focus arrives next year. For the first time in modern history, a Chevrolet compact car is legitimately the class of the field.

Unfortunately, it’s priced like the class of the field, too. The base car starts at $16,995 and features the 1.8 Ecotec coupled with a more-than-healthy dollop of airbags and other safety features. The top-of-the-line LTZ-RS rings the cash register for $23,300 or thereabouts and doesn’t have a navigation system at that price. Will cash have to be laid on the hood to move these cars?

The most interesting of the model variants is the mid-range “Eco”, which pairs the turbo 1.4 with a host of weight-saving and aero mods, including aerodynamic shutters behind the grille that close to optimize freeway fuel economy. Priced at $18,895, it is projected to clock 40mpg with the six-speed manual. I see no reason to disbelieve this claim. It may not be a Prius killer, but it takes the fight directly to the Civic Hybrid and carries the now-mandatory set of green-ish badges.

During the PR event in dreary Washington, DC, home of General Motors’ corrupt government owners and the mendacious lobbyists who pull their strings, we were continually reminded that the Cruze has been successfully sold in “sixty countries” so far. This is correct, and it’s troubling. To some degree, the Cruze is already old news upon its arrival here, the same way the Ford Fiesta has had a nice long run in Europe prior to visiting Ellis Island. Why?

The answer is simple: this is a Daewoo. My direct, repeated questions to GM personnel regarding the Cruze’s Korean ancestry were answered honestly but with perhaps too-scrupulous attention to detail. I was repeatedly told that “the architecture was engineered in Germany”, and I was repeatedly told about the “global nature” of the engineering, but the plain fact of the matter is that the Daewoo Lacetti was largely engineered, styled, and developed by Daewoo in Korea. It was then modified in some detail to become the Chevrolet Cruze. It’s a Korean car, and if it isn’t quite a Korean-market transplant like the Aveo, it’s very far from being a European design like the Ford Focus or VW Jetta.

The issue of American engineering for the Cruze hardly came up. In the modern era, GM seems to source its electronics in China, its major systems in Europe, and its brainpower in Korea. It’s smart business — TTAC readers know about China’s market and the limitless potential there — but for those of us who wanted an all-American small car to draw a line in the sand, there’s only disappointment.

The rest of you can buy a Cruze with a clear conscience. It’s built here, it’s feature-packed, it doesn’t lag behind the competition, and it’s likely to be a reliable, decent vehicle. That’s all this segment asks for. Anything else can be dismissed as the worthless dream of a wandering dreamer like myself, a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floor of silent seas, wishing for the day that General Motors shows us a great American small car.