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 projected EPA ratings are 25 city, 37 highway (update: the review earlier stated 26/38, which were earlier projections). 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.

Get more Chevy Cruze news and info at CruzeTalk.com

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.

Context is everything. Because TTAC has never tried to operate as another entry in the press-car sweepstakes, our context for the industry tends to be based more on news from the business end of things than on a regular sampling of the latest vehicles to hit the market. This basic truth about our perspective goes a long way towards explaining our obsession with the travails of the domestic car industry, and the resulting accusations that we are institutionally biased against Detroit. If we do harbor such biases (and our commitment to the truth won’t let us pretend that true objectivity exists anywhere), it is because we are products of the steady flow of bad news that has bled out of Detroit for the past decades. But this is no excuse: we owe it to you, our readers, to be ever mindful of our own shortcomings. With this in mind, I set out on a quiet weekday afternoon in search of more real-world context about the automaker we are most often accused of harboring bias against.

To be perfectly honest, I actually set out to drive a Buick LaCrosse in order to get a little more context for my forthcoming road test of the Buick Regal. After an unsuccessful five minutes at my nearest Buick dealer, the worst prejudices of my TTAC-bred GM worldview were only confirmed. Mired in dealer arbitration, this Buick showroom was a ghost town populated only by one LaCrosse, one Pontiac Solstice, one friendly receptionist and one profoundly depressed and antagonistic “salesman.” Caught between “Old GM” and oblivion (thanks to ongoing dealer cull arbitration), it was impossible to begrudge the dealer a little depression or blame GM itself for my unsavory experience with him. Still, as anyone’s mother will tell you, courtesy costs nothing, and you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

After the rudeness and crushing sense of defeat and uncertainty at the Buick dealer, and not immediately knowing the location of the next nearest un-culled (or not) Tri-Shield peddler, I made tracks for a centrally-located Chevy dealership. Posing as a potential Malibu customer, I was quickly introduced to a friendly, personable salesman who ushered me to a waiting 2LT-trimmed ‘bu.

Because of TTAC’s belief in the importance of sampling vehicles as they’re available on dealer lots, I’ve lied to more car salesmen than I care to think about in order to get time behind the wheel. Suffice it to say that this was the first time I’ve ever felt bad about the subterfuge. This guy was that good. As unscientific as the sample size was, these two visits proved in dramatic fashion that GM is neither “good” nor “bad,” but a company of contrasts: in terms of dealer experience anyway, true excellence exists just down the road from abject misery.

And so it is with GM’s cars. The handsome Malibu I drove was nestled between those two icons of “old GM,” the Cobalt and Impala, and the contrast could hardly have been more dramatic: the Malibu’s clean, graceful lines made it look like the single name-brand interloper on a shelf filled with off-brand crap. If, as some industry types like to suggest, the car business is no different than the fashion business, the Malibu would be GM’s best-selling car hands-down. In reality though, it’s been consistently outsold by the Impala, and those styling-über-alles insiders are superficial fools. So much for looks then.

Settled inside the Malibu, the favorable impressions continue. Having been previously turned off the ‘bu’s interior by the garish top-spec LTZ trim’s two-tone interior, the 2LT was a refreshing, if somewhat more somber reintroduction. Acres of softish black plastic isn’t everyone’s cup of 10W-30, but it conceals the occasionally awkward intersections of dash/console panels and uninspiring material texture pattern far better than the lighter-colored interior options. As a result, the design comes across as less busy, and the overall impression of quality is much improved.

The 2LT’s power-adjustable, heated driver’s seat is a comfortable place to spend time, with only a slight feeling of shoulder-up claustrophobia compared to the more generous real estate offered by competitors. Ergonomics are similarly up-to-snuff, offering far more intuitive controls than the button-jammed IPs of other latter-day Chevy offerings. Despite getting a leather-wrapped steering wheel with the 2LT trim level, the steering wheel is the only real disappointment lurking in the Malibu’s front row. Tiller-mounted audio and cruise control switches are densely clustered and take time to learn, and the wheel itself felt small, slightly loose and generally detracted from the overall quality impression.

Similarly, the rear seats seem like almost an afterthought compared to the well-appointed front row. Low seat height, a relatively narrow bench,and unsupportive seating make for a poor combination, and the contrast here with the Impala is unmistakable. Sure, the suede-alike seat inserts look and feel nice, but the impression of quality doesn’t approach the level of the preconception-banishing cockpit. Here’s hoping that GM’s success in the rear-seat-obsessed Chinese market eventually leads to improvements in the US-market Malibu. A D-Segment sedan should be designed to satisfy and impress more than just the driver and front passenger.

This is doubly true, given how refined the Malibu’s ride is. The interior is quiet and rattle-free, and the suspension wafts with well-damped grace, unsettled only by direct pothole strikes and some tire rumble on poor surfaces. Though tuned for comfort, the ‘bu’s suspension feels well-poised, and and keeps the driver feeling in control at all times. Perhaps too in-control: the super-light electric power steering feels effortless in the parking lot, but almost silly-overboosted at speed. Feedback may be AWOL, but at least there’s no attempt to hide the fact with confusing, artificial wheel feedback. This test didn’t provide an opportunity to tackle much in the way of curves, but nothing indicates that a perception-altering experience was missed.

On the other hand, GM’s 2.4 liter four-cylinder engine did impress greatly. Thanks to a low first gear, the four-pot Malibu covers up a weak-ish tip-in, and quickly reaches peak torque. By the time it reaches 160 lb-ft at 4500 RPMs, the engine provides surprisingly generous shove, accompanied by a muted, grinding growl reminiscent of gas direct injection engines. Performance would best be called adequate, but refinement lives up to the Malibu’s overall impression of quality.

The autobox’s six speeds make up for a lack of rev-happiness, and encourages a fuel-efficient driving style defined by brisk acceleration and easy light-throttle coasting. The major downside here is that the drivetrain tries to be too efficient for its own good: approaching a yellowing light while cruising at light throttle, the right foot didn’t find the torque needed to effortlessly power through until it was on the floor and the transmission got the hint. This would have been more disconcerting if the Malibu’s brakes weren’t strong, consistent and confidence-inspiring.

For around $27,000 including an uprated, USB port-equipped stereo, this Malibu 2LT seems like the kind of car that should be driving GM’s sales as well as its image as an automaker that can build competitive mass-market cars when it puts its mind to it. Strangely though, the Malibu hasn’t convincingly outsold its far less competitive predecessor, let alone its double-cheeseburger-value-meal Impala cousin. This is all the more surprising considering that GM is offering $3,000 cashback on the image-busting sedan.

Context gained, it’s impossible to not be impressed by both the Malibu and my random sample of the Chevy dealer experience. Still, the bad old Buick dealer and the Malibu’s lamentable lot-mates, as well as the few niggling annoyances with the ‘bu itself were enough to give pause. GM execs have recently taken to publicly stating the goal of “making every new model a home run,” a line that inevitably draws some eye-rolling from longtime GM watchers. But the Malibu and its context really reinforce the seeming truism. It’s a truly good car, especially by the standards of past GM sedans, but it needs a context that quells any fear that this quality might be a mere fluke. Unfortunately, it appears that the already old-school Impala will still be providing context to the Malibu, even after the ‘bu’s planned 2013 redesign. Even with more refinement and development, the Malibu will still be judged in its context. Nothing can escape its context.

General Motors and TTAC’s long-standing animosity provided the psycho-drama and digressions for this review.

People buy cars they don’t need with money they don’t have to impress people they don’t like. That’s why hardly anybody in Europe is buying the Chevrolet Cruze, which has been on sale over here since last summer. It’s an affordable car that you might need but you won’t want, and which won’t impress anybody at all, because it’s just not that desirable. Allow me to explain…

The Cruze uses GM’s global Delta II platform, which is also the underpinning of the new Opel Astra as well as (in basic structure) the Chevy Volt. We Euros get Cruzes built in Korea but you in North America will have yours made in Michigan. It’s a conventional sedan, though in Europe at least, a hatchback and station wagon will follow.

The Cruze is Jetta-sized, but I’d say it looks better: less bloat, lower beltline, crisper shapes, good proportions. It manages to be both distinct and clean, with the major exception being the odd “headband” across the grille that encloses the recklessly large Chevy bow tie. If that is supposed to look sporty in a Jane Fonda, 1980′s aerobics way, it serves its purpose.

The interior is good, within the cut price idiom. For a Daewoo, the Cruze is short on depressing Korean genericness and long on generic-but-OK GM stuff, such as the standard cow’s tongue steering wheel and annoyingly deep-set instrument pods. It’s a bit fussy but not in a particularly creepy way, and I actually liked the cloth-befitted dashboard – fabric being generally preferable to dead cow. Finish and the selected plastics are quite OK. 

What is really good is available space: the Cruze has plenty for four. This is more than a commuter car: I could deal with sitting in the back for hours on end and the trunk could handle all my trip luggage too (as it has a capacity of 16 cubic feet). Oddly, GM likes to stress that the trunk has indentations enabling space for two golf bags – I didn’t know that golfers were a cheap-car-buying demographic yet.

Not to forget, the Cruze has fared very well on the newest Euro-NCAP crash tests.

This is a really cheap car, so I’d gladly accept an interior that isn’t quite VW-standard if it saved me thousands. (You can get one like my tester for €15k, which is around 30% less than a comparable Jetta in Germany. And entry-level Cruzes start at €12k, which is the average price of cars that are two sizes smaller).

But some things just aren’t worth a low price. Case in point: the Cruze’s engine. The 1.8L machine produces 140HP of which I could only feel around 105 actually doing any work. And what little output it could muster produced more than its share of an unlovely noise. It’s an old-school engine that has somehow found its way into a new car, and it ruins the experience. Picture a car that feels well-made but which at highway speeds has a gruff, obtrusive, strained sound coming from its engine department: that’s what the Cruze I drove was like. (I also spent an hour in a Cruze equipped with the 110HP 1.6L engine. It’s slightly sweeter, but the sound is still gruff, and it’s so weak you have to thrash it all the time, so it’s not an alternative). Apparently the Diesels are the pick of the bunch, but they come at a steep, three-grand price premium. At a reported 25MPG, the tested 1.8L is not exactly economical either.

I didn’t like the overly snatchy brakes or the late-action clutch, either. And speaking of snatchiness, the ignition lock is snaggly.

In contrast to the engine, the Cruze’s ride and handling are perfectly acceptable in the grand scheme of things. The Chevwoo doesn’t communicate like an Euro-market Focus or cosset like a Renault Megane but it felt capable at a wide range of jobs – city, highway, high-speed (110 MPH) autobahn. The bias is definitely on comfort, but the ride-handling compromise is quite good. And wind and ride noises are pleasantly low.

But back to the engine problem: how can it be that a major car company introduces a new global model with a dud motor? Well, I’m going to speculate that this is the product of a major planning malfunction; it’s the only explanation I can think of. Somewhere along the line, somebody upstairs at GM may have realized that the Cruze had as much interior space as the poorly-packaged, larger yet cramped Opel Insignia / Buick Regal. And that it beats the similar Opel Astra on several counts – but all at a seriously lower price. How to protect the Opels from the Chevys? How to keep the Daewoo off Buick’s neck?

Instead of letting the brands fight it to the finish in the way (for instance) that VW does with Skoda, GM seems to have cheapened the Cruze by installing an obsolete engine. (Obviously, GM has some good small engines on tap; why else wouldn’t they use one? Cost can’t be that much of a factor.)

I have to tell you that it’s a personal thing for me: just as I don’t trust a man who dyes his hair, or I don’t trust a banker, or a teetotaler, I don’t trust a car maker that willingly adulterates one car in order to protect another.

Porsche did it with the 914 and with the Boxster in order to protect the 911, and thereby earned the distrust of first Setright and then Clarkson. (And just look what has happened to Porsche in the mean time). GM does it with the Cruze, so why would I buy one, or recommend it to anybody I know?

I mean, everybody makes mistakes, but to install a crummy engine in a new global car on purpose sounds like what a company would do that is trying to pull one over you. Just think of what kind of unseen short cuts they might be taking, quality-wise.

If you wanted to be generous, you could forget this possibly petty matter of trust. Instead, you could say that this is a pretty decent, useful small car that will hopefully be equipped with a much better engine when it leaves North American factories next year. But as it is right now, there are around a dozen better cars on the market, most made by trustworthier companies.

[Editor's Note: The US-spec 2011 Cruze will offer an available 1.4 liter turbocharged engine in addition to the 1.8 liter base engine tested here]

When buying a car, it can matter a great deal which boxes you do check. And, sometimes, which ones you don’t. Comparisons between the GMC Terrain tested last month and a Chevrolet Equinox driven recently unearthed one do, and one don’t.

The Equinox and Terrain are essentially the same vehicle aside from sheetmetal. But the sheetmetal differs so greatly that “rebadge” is not appropriate. Though the Terrain’s chunky exterior has fans, you’d never know it from the comments at TTAC. The Equinox’s much more conventional exterior, in contrast, shouldn’t offend anyone. Though not striking, the second-generation Equinox is blandly attractive, if anything more so than any of its primary competitors. No one does a double take when a Ford Escape, Honda CR-V, Toyota RAV4, Subaru Forester, or Volkswagen Tiguan crosses their path. The droopy headlights of which Chrysler and VW have been so fond lately make an unfortunate appearance on the Equinox as well, but this minor design faux pas pales next to the noses that various Japanese companies has been cursing their cars with lately.

The tested GMC Terrain’s black cloth had a bit much of a work truck vibe. The Chevrolet Equinox had the optional black and brown leather (also available in the GMC), and it makes for a much warmer, more luxurious, and altogether more attractive interior. Both models share a stylish, well-organized center stack complete with ambient lighting, red in the Terrain, blue in the Equinox. The Chevy’s blue is easier on the eyes. Most of the interior plastics are hard, and some appear lower rent than others, but this is typical of the price point. Overall, this is the segment’s best interior.

Like the Terrain, the Equinox combines the width of a compact crossover with the wheelbase and length of a midsize. Inside, this translates to modest shoulder room and exceptional legroom. Seats front and rear are moderately firm and comfortably contoured, and the rear cushion is high enough off the floor to provide adults with thigh support. Ironically, the distantly related Cadillac SRX pairs a larger number of rear seat amenities—rear vents with automatic controls, seat heaters—with a much more cramped, lower, and less comfortable rear seat.

The Equinox’s cabin isn’t broad but, as in many current GM vehicles, the instrument panel runs high and deep between massive A-pillars. “Bigger is better” thinking persists within General Motors, and especially once underway the Equinox feels larger than it is, and it already is a half-size larger than most competitors. This probably attracts more people than it turns off, even if fewer people are seeking to “live large” these days.

The usual price of this large feel: anyone hoping for agile handling won’t find it. The Equinox’s handling is accurate and secure, with nicely weighted steering, good body control, and modest body lean. But agile or sporty it is not. GM leaves any semblance of that for the imports. The Equinox’s moderately firm suspension absorbs most bumps well without any float, but from time to time transmits enough of the impact that you know…you’re in an crossover and not a car. Noise levels are low, making it all too easy to go faster than you intend.

The first-gen Equinox was available with a 185-horsepower 3.4-liter OHV V6 and a 264-horsepower 3.6-liter DOHC V6. The new uplevel engine, a direct-injected 3.0-liter V6, on paper as powerful as the old 3.6, was the largest source of disappointment in the tested GMC Terrain. Too little midrange power to feel energetic, and too vocal with each often-needed downshift, and no more economical than a direct-injected 3.6 would have been.

Since the 3.0-liter V6 was so underwhelming, the new base engine, a 182-horsepower direct-injected 2.4-liter DOHC oughtn’t have a shot at motivating the front-wheel-drive Equinox’s 3,800 pounds. And yet, defying all logic, perhaps even physics itself, the four feels considerably better than the V6 in typical driving. Partly it’s a matter of also sounding better than the V6. Or at least sounding less. The six-speed automatic must downshift at least as much with the four, but when it does so the four draws much less attention to itself. After decades of uncouth fours, GM has finally managed to develop one that puts the optional V6 to shame. Didn’t see this one coming.

Physics cannot really be defeated, so the 2.4-power Equinox isn’t quick. It just feels acceptable and appropriate when driving the way non-enthusiasts drive. Add all-wheel-drive, a full load, some hills, or a combination of the above, and maybe not. For these conditions and those who want both refinement and quick acceleration, let’s hope GM tosses the 3.0 in favor of a 3.6 sooner rather than later.

Ads for the Equinox have tended to focus on the four’s EPA fuel economy ratings of 22/32. In the real world, the Equinox can top 30 in straight highway driving, but mid-twenties tends to be typical with mixed driving.

After sampling the V6 with the cloth trim and the four with the leather, the latter combination is clearly the way to go—at least until GM sees fit to offer a suitable uplevel engine. It seems odd to pair uplevel features like leather with a four-cylinder engine in a nearly two-ton vehicle, which might be why such a combination has rarely been offered in the past in the U.S. But in this case the combination somehow—surprisingly—works. The new Equinox isn’t great in any area aside from rear seat legroom. But, out in the real world driving like compact crossover owners typically drive, the whole impresses more than the sum of its parts. If the reliability stats are solid—TrueDelta should have some in February—the Chevrolet Equinox will be a good vehicle to recommend to people who would otherwise buy a CR-V, RAV4, or Forester with the base engine. They’ll then find that the Equinox is a rarity for GM: a model dealers can’t seem to keep on the lot.

[Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta, a provider of automotive quality and reliability data]

With my previous Chevrolet Cobalt XFE encounter in mind, visiting three dealerships in search of an XFE tester came as no surprise. Ironically, the dealer formerly associated with “Mr. Big Volume” (a.k.a. Bill Heard) had one XFE-badged Cobalt that survived last month’s Cash For Clunkers shopping spree. Like the surprisingly respectful staff at this once-infamous storefront, the XFE was a refreshing breath of recirculated air. It’s still a Cobalt, but it’s the most fuel-efficient car, battery laden Hybrids notwithstanding. Which turns a rental car special into something…well, something more special.

The Cobalt XFE’s claim to fame is the 37 miles per gallon EPA rating, a figure reached from common sense engineering. Which doesn’t explain the (optional) drag-inducing spoiler on our two-door tester: laminar airflow-seekers look elsewhere.

But the rest of the package is mundane Cobalt. Sure, the split grille has a swept back demeanor and the C-pillar verges on being an elegant sports coupe, but there’s nothing to love about a (non-SS) Chevy Cobalt. But, with the XFE in full effect, that’s the point. That little badge reminds all and sundry just what makes GM’s unloved compact so special.

And if there’s a soft spot for a lightly optioned, purely functional mode of vehicular travel in your heart, prepare for the Cobalt LS-cum-XFE to tug at your sensible side. Yes, the interior polymers are made of the same brittle rubbish of GM’s stock in trade, but that dashboard doesn’t look like its crafted from a single piece of plastic. The seat fabric might be crafted from recycled milk cartons, but they put the same stuff on the doors for visual warmth and long distance comfort. The Corvette-worthy tiller and decent gearbox get the job done with Jon Stewart-like modesty. There’s even a CD/MP3 stereo with a decent set of horns at each corner, and XM radio so they’ll never take a coffee break.

And the XFE-tuned Cobalt works, provided you don’t see the perks of spending more for a Honda Civic. Or what you don’t sacrifice at a Hyundai dealership. Items like the missing center armrest, or the bubbling chrome plating on the interior door handles won’t win any friends. And though the “upshift” idiot light gets old after the first mile of traffic, a useful instant MPG-meter makes the pain go away with every drop in engine vacuum.

The most gratifying number arrived on said economy gauge at a steady state cruise at 65mph: 39 miles per gallon. Which is surprising, even if it isn’t: credit the daddy long-legs gearing and low resistance tires. Not to mention the reasonable grunt (a flat 150lb-ft of torque) enabling those low engine speeds (2500 revs at 70mph) in the proud Detroit tradition of turnpike cruising. But don’t forget the iPod: eco-friendly tires turn into the howling hounds of hell on coarse roads.

But there’s fun in those fuel-economy tires: even if the 2700lb Cobalt XFE is not a performance car per se. With 155 horses and a reasonably accurate shifter, there’s plenty of hoonage potential at school-zone friendly speeds. But that’s all, because redlining the Ecotec nets in more four-banger thrash than its competition, giving the impression of an underhood Anthrax concert controlled by one’s right foot.

Also credit the idiot-proof fun to the Cobalt’s pothole friendly (mushy) suspension and tires with less grip than an Iraqi dictator: adequate for daily commutes, but easily surpasses their comfort level at 7/10ths. Think about it: you can drive the XFE to an inch of it’s life (your life?) and still not piss off the neighbors.

More to the point, this bottom-drawer Bowtie is delightfully crude, not fast. But the almost Hybrid-like mileage doesn’t come at the expense of Prius styling clichés, extraneous engineering of rare-earth battery packs and gee-whiz dashboard gadgetry almost mandatory for today’s Eco-warriers. In the Cobalt, there’s a set of chrome rings on the gauges, and a playful stick shift ready to take requests: fuel economy or fun?

And that’s the way it should be. GM channeled their inner Civic CRX HF this time, and hopefully it’ll stick around for the upcoming Chevy Cruze (but with Civic levels of craftsmanship). If “The Civic that Hates Fuel” returns, the Cruze is doomed to the fate of its Cobalt/Cavalier forefathers. It’ll be too little and too late, even with the Chevy Volt’s halo effect: being less than half the (theoretical) price of a GM hybrid counts for something. But not enough.

Back to the present: my (obligatory) price objection to the Cobalt’s near-17k sticker forced an admission that the dealer’s only XFE is a loss leader: ready for weekend advertisement at $13,995. No wonder the window sticker was MIA, taking the all-important EPA numbers with it. Too bad about that: because the Cobalt XFE is absolutely worthy of an economy-minded buyer’s checkbook.

Star Ratings

Performance (3 stars): Not as silky smooth as the competition, but it scoots along good enough.

Ride (4 stars): More than compliant for this class.

Handling (3 stars): Light on stick, lighter on roll control.

Exterior (2 stars): There’s a spoiler on a dull, rental car worthy compact designed for fuel efficiency. That makes sense.

Interior (3 stars): Relatively comfortable buckets, inoffensive design, overall feeling of getting what you paid for. Unless you paid MSRP.

Fit and Finish (2 stars): Bubbling chrome accents and lousy polymers mean that GM still isn’t playing to win.

Toys (1 star): Want more than a CD player and A/C? Pass on the XFE and get the nicer models with the thirstier engine.

Desirability (4 stars): Its hard not to love a small car with the basics, a decent gearbox and great MPGs.

Mileage: 25/37

Price as Tested: $16,765 (soon to be $13,995)

Overall (4 stars): And you paid how much for your Hybrid?

For accountants, there are two certainties: golf and taxes. Together, both are tedious enough to make me want death. Unfortunately, I knew I’d be hearing a lot about both of these moribund subjects at our firm golf tournament. I was in the parking lot that morning, praying to the heavens for divine intervention when I heard my boss’ 1976 Corvette growling and lazily pulling up. As soon as I saw the ‘Vette, I decided to cash in the goodwill I’d earned by working 300 hours of overtime between November and March. “Fifteen minutes – no more,” he said. Score.

As we sat down for the drive, my boss smiled. He knew what was coming. I turned the ignition; the car sputtered lamely. “This always happens when I drive cars that are older than me,” I said. I primed it with a flick of the gas and the 305 V8 rumbled to life. T-Top off, we hit the country roads near the course.

The car’s age was immediately apparent. The brakes were spongy and non-linear, the pedal travel was maddening and the stock automatic only had three speeds. The car’s handling managed to somehow both be soft, yet twitchy over destitute farm roads. By far the worst thing was the skinny steering wheel. Though it was relatively linear, the steering offered about 20 degrees of play before engaging in earnest, and when it did, it gave me an upper body workout worthy of P90X. Gripping the skinny tiller, and then making the Herculean effort to rotate it, I wondered if power steering should trump sliced bread as the world’s greatest invention.

I struggled to find a basis for comparison. The Corvette was so raw, so unrefined, so different from anything I’d driven. Though it was a “luxury” car in its day, I could never treat it as such. Every change of direction had to be planned in advance, lest the understeer or snap oversteer take over with such non-linear brakes. Every turn of the steering required a rest until the next. This thing wasn’t even close to a luxury car, it was a motorcycle on four wheels. Even the straight pipes and their thunderous burble reminded me of a bike.

As we bombed it down the country roads, I wasn’t taken back to a scene from Bullit, or 2 Fast Too Furious. The only thing I could think of was the opening scene in Lawrence of Arabia. The one where Peter O’Toole pushes his bike to the limit, swallowing the country road ahead of him, approaching death so closely just to see if he could still feel alive.

“This is all really cheesy,” I said to my boss. “Yeah, but it’s a kind of cheesy I like,” he replied.

It all felt so ancient, belonging to a time when Americans loved the open road. Before drivers learned to delegate 90 percent of a car’s decisions to a computer. A time when cars were so fun, and new, and cool, and awesome that just hitting a piece of strip was an event in and of itself. And the Stingtay was near the top of the pantheon, as far as perfect cars to devour the Interstate: more adventurous and accessible than a Cadillac of the same vintage, and more athletic than a Chevy Impala.

As cars became more insular, and the “Sunday drive” became a thing of the past, they stopped making Vettes like this one. But this Vette didn’t just take me through country roads, it brought me back to 1976. The 305 burbled, the sun shone and the road lay ahead of us. No speed traps, no ABS, no traction control. Just the Vette, my scared shitless Boss and I. A rare moment of automotive nirvana.

In the end, it didn’t really matter that the 305 could barely manage to produce wheelspin without power braking. And I hardly cared that the yellow Stinger was ridiculously phallic (it could probably arouse Bob Dole from the dead). Or that the seats were so old and cracked and offered so little lumbar support that I regretted not bringing my chiro along. Nope, none of that mattered.

Not having been alive when it rolled off the line, it was clear I couldn’t evaluate the Vette against its peers. All I knew was that I loved it. Was it because it was so different than the type of cars I grew up in, or was it because it was a bona fide good car? Out here on these country roads, as the miles piled up, the engine roared and I felt strangely at peace with myself, I’m not sure the answer really mattered.

One of the least publicized aspects of the “New” GM is how much of the old company remains on the books. More to the point, bad ideas with new window dressings still reign (Cutlass) supreme. But not the new 2006—sorry, 2010—Chevrolet Camaro: this idea had the right stuff. On paper. In the real world?

Much like Jay Bernard’s Pontiac GTO rendition of 1999, the Camaro appeals more as an Alias-generated prototype viewed on a flat panel monitor. Sure, the proportions are suitably muscular. But someone forgot to sweat the details. The Camaro SS’s bulldog front bumper, pregnant fender flares and breadbox rear deck reek of haste, dying for an evening with a clay modeler’s wire-loop tool. And what the last F-body did for hatchbacks, the new Camaro does for the boot: reasonable space but cumbersome usage makes it a pointless endeavor. Combined with a skyward beltline and miniscule greenhouse, even the Camaro SS’s nine-inch wide rear wheels get lost in the flab. And this ain’t no sexy, slippery F-body. The new Camaro has the poise and elegance of Tenacious D on skateboards.

The interior reeks and creaks of GM interior’s stock and trade: look for visual pleasure, yet touch for sensory disapproval. Aside from stitched armrests on the SS’ door panels, Camaro occupants sit between a rock and a hard place. Faux silver trim accents the flimsy vent registers on a brittle dashboard, then encompass the area normally associated with cloth/vinyl padding on the door panels. (Even the Chevrolet Aveo got that right.) Sitting in the Camaro’s cramped rear cubby reinforces the impression. The interior is awash in a blandness that would not feel out of place in a Chrysler Sebring. What happened to the world-class interiors you promised, Mr. Lutz?

That’s not to say the Camaro’s interior can’t be fun. The busy analog gauges sit in retro square binnacles, while secondary readouts rest atop the console, with its pitch-perfect short handle shifter. The SS gets an ergonomic steering wheel complete with an M-series worthy logo on the bottom of the tiller. There’s a respectable Boston Acoustics audio system and the seats aren’t half bad . . . unless you try the thrones in a Dodge Challenger SRT-8.

But Camaro interiors have been crap for years. The spatial challenge never dissuaded the Bowtie faithful for one reason: Chevy’s small block V8. With six smooth-shifting, close-ratio speeds and a burly 6.3 liters and 422hp of LS3 underfoot, the SS’s performance is absolutely right for the nameplate. Aside from the (industry standard) practice of throttle delay at tip-in, the Camaro’s power is effortless, refined and angry enough to ruin an import’s day, one quarter-mile at a time. We’re torquing the mid-to-low 13 second range—much like the outgoing Camaro SS and its low-po LS1 mill.

All of this makes sense, given the fifth-generation Camaro’s portly underpinnings. Blessed with plenty of NVH (noise, vibration, harshness) reducing materials, an independent rear axle and the necessary bulk associated with the Zeta Platform, the 3800lb Camaro SS rides like a champ, obliterating any bump in the road, rolling down the highway like a refined German autobahn cruiser. Pony car heritage be damned, the new Camaro is made for Baby Boomers who remember the good ol’ days, but demand Lexus-like refinement in the prime of their lives.

Aye, there’s the rub. The Chevrolet Camaro still wanders like a lost Taliban in the Tora Bora; angry and full of vigor, but without any focused direction. No longer a Panhard-infused, knuckle-dragging back road barnstormer, the new Camaro has enough inertia-infused body roll to feel like an overstuffed gymnast in quick corners. The multi-branded Camaro/Brembo calipers have a Bumblebee-like identity crisis, but they stop like a Decepticon in Optimus Prime’s wake, sans nose-dive.

There’s a respectable amount of on-center steering feel. Navigating left hand turns around medians, pedestrians and subcompacts requires craning around the A-pillar to ensure a safe and speedy getaway. While it’s possible to drive the Camaro fast, don’t expect an easy time, what with a soft suspension under the hard and slippery bucket seats. Like most of today’s “Fat Elvis” American performance icons, the Chevrolet Camaro SS is suited to freeway sweepers, not SCCA road courses. And that’s a damn shame.

The fifth generation Camaro’s marketing push in the “new” GM’s portfolio notwithstanding, it appears the remnants of the old GM are alive and well. Uh-oh. If the latest Camaro was a clean sheet redesign, GM wouldn’t give the Zeta platform the time of day. It’s simply too big and heavy to provide the lively performance associated with the Camaro brand. Sorry, model. Even if GM’s platform engineers got the right bones for the beast, the crap interior proves that the “new” GM isn’t ready for the change that customers, taxpayers and the American economy expect from a company (supposedly) changing its ways.

“But, but,” I sputtered, gesticulating in a fashion I hoped was somewhere between acceptably friendly and usefully threatening, “when I reserved online, I specifically chose a Chevrolet Cobalt or similar.” “This is similar,” the smiling woman behind the counter assured me. “It’s very similar. It is also a Chevrolet, and it is the only intermediate we have left.” “Listen, lady,” I said, trying desperately to not sound like a crazy person, “the 1977 Cutlass Supreme Brougham was an intermediate. This is a tin box from Korea.” Despite its obvious absurdity, it was the last even vaguely rational thing I said. Bottom line: they were out of cars here at the Asheville airport. This was what they had left. Although I eventually received a four dollar and twenty-one cent credit to my account, there was no changing the fact that I would have to drive an automatic-transmission Aveo through the Great Smoky Mountains. Oh well. At least I could perform a top-speed test.

More than thirty years ago, General Motors responded to the flood of competent, cheerful imported small cars by introducing the Chevrolet Chevette. The Chevette was far from a perfect vehicle—perhaps no modern subcompact has been farther from the ideal—but it was designed by American GM personnel, from a European GM platform and built in the United States. It represented an honest attempt by GM to compete in the market. It should have been the first of many such efforts.

Instead, the Chevette was more or less replaced by the Sprint, a rebadged three-cylinder Suzuki. GM told us it was just temporary until the bright, shining day when GM would strike back with an all-American small car. Ha. More than twenty years later, we’re still waiting. Cruze much? We shall see. In the meantime, GM’s subcontracted the job to an even lower-cost producer, their Korean partner Daewoo. How pathetic is that? Let’s put it in perspective. Honda’s knocked out seven generations of Civics since GM sold a new American-made entry-level car.

It’s tempting, therefore, simply to pan the Aveo because it represents one of the most crass, cynical decisions ever taken by the company that was once America’s greatest automaker. That would never do here on TTAC. So instead I’ll review the car on its own merits, which are negligible.

Our tester stickered for $16,185. Forget about the used cars you could buy for that money. Within a thousand bucks up or down, we have everything from the underrated Ford Focus to the aforementioned Honda Civic, to say nothing of the VW Rabbit. All of those are real cars, which is to say they can climb hills.

The Aveo does not climb hills. Through the Smoky Mountains, it frequently reached for second gear in its woeful automatic transmission. In an ultimately unsuccessful effort to maintain the speed limit on steep grades, I pasted pedal to metal. Unfortunately, it did little to limit the time spent inside. While not unpleasant to observe, the Aveo’s front seats are proscribed by the Geneva Convention.

Though the Aveo couldn’t hold seventy up a hill, we were certain that it would be possible to break the magic “ton” downhill. At the crest of a long five percent grade, I gripped the wheel and asked the engine room for maximum thrust. Down we flew . . . eighty . . . eighty-five . . . ninety . . . The doors shook in their rubber moldings. The ChevyWoo’s nose began to wander alarmingly across the road surface, forcing me to correct at high speed like Raikkonnen coming out of the tunnel at Monaco. As the speedometer passed ninety-five, a low moaning noise gained terrifying resonance in the cabin. Things looked good for triple-digit street speed, but a rather gentle curve at the bottom of the long hill interrupted the party.

A quarter-turn of steering produced plenty of noise but no appreciable variance in heading, forcing me to left-foot kick the brake and then to induce some further oscillation with a sharp shake of the wheel. Finally, the squealing Aveo, now on the safe side of eighty-five, nosed into the turn. It was, without a doubt, the most terrifying moment I’ve experienced at even vaguely legal highway speeds in a long time.

Okay, so the Aveo doesn’t go, turn, or stop. Did you think it would? I didn’t. Again, I did expect that the Chevy would offer some solid value and rewarding features for the money. The Aveo doesn’t even offer more features than the similarly priced competition. Our tester had no cruise control, no power windows, no power locks.

Time for the good news: we averaged around thirty-five miles per gallon on a long, hill-infested trip, and nothing broke or wobbled loose. That’s it. It’s impossible to care about this car, but don’t worry. GM shares your disinterest.

Though the Mustang and Camaro will forever be linked in the public imagination as “ponycars”, the truth is that only twice in history has the Camaro been explicitly aimed at the Mustang. The first time, of course, was at its introduction; the Mustang had caught the General napping and the first-gen Camaro was a simple “me-too” response to that success, as craven in its copying as the Russian faux-Concorde that would debut two years later.

With the arrival of the 1970 model, however, Chevrolet charted a drastically different path for its “ponycar”. The shape of the original split-bumper car could have originated from an Italian styling house, so much so that Andreas Pininfarina himself publicly stated his admiration for the design. It was clean, classic and unique. By contrast, Ford looked to the past for inspiration with the Mustang II, slathering the small Pinto-based car with retro cues, and then looked to Europe for guidance with Jack Telnack’s 1979 Fox Mustang.

The Camaro’s next redesign, in 1982, turned it into a sleek, futuristic spaceship of a car, and with that the battle lines were drawn. Where the Mustang would always be smaller, sedan-derived, and Baroque in style, the Camaro would become an ever-more-aggressive wedge, a naked statement of heartland American performance. Chevrolet pursued an aggressive series of upgrades—the 5.0 High Output, Tuned Port Injection, and the final 5.7 TPI—designed to stay one critical step ahead of Ford.

Between 1993 and 1994, there was an “all-change” period in the ponycar world. Ford’s new(ish) Mustang was another retro pastiche, a rather ungainly, high-shouldered sedan with more weight and no more power. The Camaro, by contrast, became what some would call a bona fide supercar, taking its styling directly from the “Corvette Indy” concept and its LT1 engine from the Corvette itself.

In one fell swoop, Chevrolet achieved permanent ascendancy in the performance war. Nothing short of a Porsche — or a Corvette — could touch an LT1 Camaro in full song. I drove an early-production ’94 through the hills of Kentucky lo these many years ago and was absolutely crushed by the speed and power. Coupled to a six-speed manual, the original fourth-gen F-body was easily the most capable vehicle ever offered at that price level.

Wouldn’t you know, the SN95 Mustang outsold it from Day One. The general public preferred the friendly accessibility of the Ford to the rocketship performance and Countach-esque seating position of the Chevrolet. The men from GM had backed the wrong horse. As young buyers moved to import brands in record numbers, the market for these increasingly expensive and difficult-to-insure ponycars shifted back to the same men who had purchased them a decade or two previous. Those men didn’t want a road-going rocketship. They wanted to sit up straight and enjoy themselves.

GM’s response was typically bizarre: they restyled the Camaro a bit and dropped in the LS1 aluminum V8 from the then-new C5 Corvette. This simply emphasized the model’s existing virtues — speed, power, supercar proportions — while doing nothing about the problems that led to the Mustang’s runaway sales victory. The good news: for the first time since the Trans Am SD-455, you could buy a thirteen-second car for a working man’s wage. The bad news: nobody wanted to.

The Camaro I’m driving in the header picture is the Trackbird Engineering “Street Modified 2″ LS1 Z28. Ordered for SCCA competition as a completely bare-bones, no-option car in the final months of Camaro production, it was then reworked from the ground up for the demands of competitive autocross on 315-section R-compound tires. The result was a car capable of slaughtering modern icons such as the Subaru STi or Mitsubishi Evolution. Exiting a sweeping turn at well over 1.5 g, feeling the small-block Chevy pulling forward like Apollo’s own chariot, tucked deep within the dismal plastic bathtub that passed for an interior in those cars, it was simply extraordinary.

The LS1-powered Camaro was discontinued with no clear successor. Obsessed with trucks, profits, and urban markets, always afraid to cannibalize the Corvette, GM simply didn’t care enough to continue. Nor did the consumer. Presented with the choice between a 350-horsepower (although always underrated in advertising to preserve the Vette) rocketship Camaro and a 260-horsepower dumpy New Edge Mustang, they chose the Mustang in droves.

If the customer liked the New Edge, they loved the 2005 retro ’Stang. Although still incapable of matching the 1998 Camaro’s performance, the new Mustang had retro character in spades and looked like a million bucks driving down the street. The man in that street had spoken, and GM decided to listen. The revolution of 1970 — the decision to embrace the future and create a unique identity — was done. From now on, starting in 2010, the Camaro would, once again, be nothing but another imitation pony.

Driving the Chevrolet HHR sent your humble author into a massive 1980s flashback; no drugs required. The Japanese car supply/demand imbalance during Paula Abdul’s Lakers Girl days meant any Japanese model could find a market regardless of merit. One of the least meritorious was the Isuzu I-Mark: a car so relentlessly nondescript that boredom was the primary safety hazard while driving one. Twenty years later, that particular strain of car flu, automobilis mediocritas, has mutated and infected the Chevrolet HHR, turning it into one of the dullest transportation appliances of the twenty-first century.

The boredom starts from fifty feet away. By taking a T-square to his GM-ified PT Cruiser, designer Bryan Nesbitt also stripped it of any drama. Yes, it’s unique. No, it’s not particularly interesting. The profile blends in against a sea of shell-backed pickup trucks and slammed small SUVs. Against the monotonous background of the shape, interesting details like the half-moon grille and the strong retro-inspired fenders get lost rather than stand out. The features that do stand out are the two enormous bumpers covered with a bizarre collection of protrusions and reflectors. These wipe out the last vestiges of design coherence.

It gets better (but not by much) once you climb inside the HHR. Front legroom is good, headroom is typically brick-on-wheels excellent, but rear legroom is disappointing. The usual suspects—GM’s hard and grainy plastics—cover most of the surfaces, but the design is pleasantly understated and the pieces seem to be solidly assembled. Finding a decent driving position is easy with the heated six-way power driver’s seat and tilt column, but the optional leather is definitely tanned for durability, not comfort.

The “Yes, but . . . ” theme continues throughout the interior. A good-sized glove box and several storage cubbies adorn the cabin, but the lids and mechanisms feel cheap. There are good cupholders between the seats, but the armrests violate their airspace. There is a clever 3-position rear cargo cover, but it feels like a Rubbermaid factory reject. Chevrolet thoughtfully provided a dead pedal, but it’s modeled on the Torquemada Achilles tendon rack.

At least GM got the driver’s interfaces mostly right. The gauges are clear, the controls are logically laid out (kudos for the steering wheel buttons), and the now-expected toys like a multi-function trip computer, iPod jack and USB interface are all present and accounted for.

The HHR 2LT comes with a 2.4-liter version of GM’s ubiquitous Ecotec engine, and E85 flex-fuel capability is standard for 2009. At 175 hp and 160 lb·ft of torque, it provides 17 ponies and 12 twists more than the base 2.2-liter engine. Coupled to GM’s 4T45 four-speed automatic, the HHR accelerates with noteworthy indifference (0-60 in about 8 seconds, according to the buff books). The aural accompaniment to forward motion is equally uninteresting, uninspiring and inoffensive.

Once up to speed, the HHR settles easily into its preferred mode of disinterested A to B cruising. Passing power is adequate, but will produce neither grins nor grimaces. Fuel economy is class-competitive, averaging about 24 mpg on California E10 gasoline and 22 mpg on E85 under similar conditions.

The 2LT package adds rear disc brakes, sport-tuned suspension, and 215/50R-17 tires (versus 215/55R-16 on the base model). The upgrades significantly improve on the HHR’s wallowy ride, poor braking and excessive body roll. Once again, adequacy is the watchword of the day. The ride is reasonably taut without being uncomfortable or noisy. Tracking on the interstate is OK except on highly grooved pavement, and the brakes perform as asked without drama or inspiration.

Throw the HHR into a corner with the accurate but uncommunicative steering, and it responds with adequate turn-in. Cornering limits are high enough that only major hoonage will cause trouble, and any excessive speed is scrubbed off with safe, fun-nullifying understeer. Given that enthusiasts will gravitate to the higher-strung SS model, the 2LT’s ride and handling will give most owners no complaints.

What will produce complaints (and possibly soiled underwear) are the blind spots created by the HHR’s thicket of pillars, headrests, and undersized tinted windows. Changing lanes, especially to the right, is a triumph of faith over knowledge, as is backing out of a parking space. A rear-view camera (not offered) or proximity sensors (ditto) would be welcome. On the other hand, that would eliminate the only bit of excitement the HHR offers.

The HHR is a revealing example of GM’s product development woes. It’s a me-too design that lacks the style of the PT Cruiser, the dog-crate-on-wheels utility of the Honda Element, or the funky spirit of the first-generation Scion xB. It’s a perfectly adequate vehicle, but adequacy should be a starting point, not a destination. The HHR’s unusual styling will attract some customers, but its lack of any standout qualities will create neither brand equity nor many repeat customers.