As far as I’m concerned, clothes are just something which keep me from
(a) freezing
and
(b) being arrested.

However, even with such a clear disclaimer to my limited scope where fashion is concerned, I feel it necessary to point out at least one simple rule: if you walk around all day wearing a baseball hat turned around backwards, you’ll look like an idiot. Or Fred Durst.
Wait, that’s redundant.

I think you can see where I’m going with this. Mini’s latest model exists not because it is materially better-handling or faster or even lighter than the Classic Cooper from whence it sprang, but because it is stylier. Like, they put more style in it.

I hesitate to cast too many aspersions, being somewhat fat and definitely ginger, but I’d have to say the results are a bit… mixed. Surely you, dear reader, who are possessed of eyes, can come to your own conclusions on the matter. I think it looks like someone sat on it.

Still, from many angles the MINI coupé is actually not too bad looking. If you put up the deployable spoiler for instance. Or look at your feet.

And if getting attention is your thing, then good news! I once actually returned to my tester to find two ladies having an impromptu photo-session with it. Admittedly, it was a bit more Absolutely Fabulous than America’s Next Top Skeleton: apparently Grandma’s a Limp Bizkit fan.

But enough nattering about the looks, let’s jump in the little tyke and take ‘er for a rip!

First: who designed this interior, Flavor Flav? Or possibly Fisher-Price?

Second: who cares? Everything you’ve heard about one Mini interior, you’ve heard about all the others. They’re cartoonish and fiddly and whatever the exact opposite of ergonomic is. Blergonomic.

Add to that the cut-down cockpit of the Mini coupé and embrace the added impracticality of rear blind-spots like an Imperial Star Destroyer and a pillbox front view. Is the light green yet? Better stick your head out the window to check. I am not an overly tall person, but when first in line at the lights, I learned to follow the lead of the cross-traffic.

Ticking off a few more demerits, cargo space: pretty negligible. Ride quality: nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition! Mix in a back parcel shelf that rattles like an Army of Darkness can-can line and you might think I’ve little love lost for the two-seater Mini. But you’d be wrong.

Like a dream. Like a go-kart. Like it’s on rails.

When it comes to handling clichés, take your pick and apply it to this latest member of the MINI range: the Cooper S coupé. Just don’t expect to make any sense.

This ain’t no go-kart: it grips over bumpy pavement rather than skittering sideways like a skipped stone. And as for going around a bend on rails, Thomas the Tank Engine would flop over on his flank at half the g’s that a Cooper S coupé pulls while scrabbling through a corner.

Depress the Sport button (why should you even have to?) and thrill to the declarative *pop-pop-pop* of improperly combusted fuel. It’s a cheery flatulence that must surely be artificial in some way, given our draconian emissions laws, but try to keep the grin off your face. I dare ya.

No chance. Inasmuch as the Mini coupé is uneasy on the eyes and of greatly reduced practicality, it absolutely wins you over with puppy dog enthusiasm, rorty exhaust note and hyperactive steering. It’s such a hard car to hate, so why would you?

But here’s the thing. Last time I attended fat camp…er… a manufacturer-sponsored car launch, I sat enthralled as a fellow journo listed off the number of interesting ways in which his personal Mini had broken.

These ranged from the “minor niggle” category – wonky signal lights, to the “just take all my money You Bastards” column – supercharger failure, thousand-dollar seat repair, ECU-fritzing. Mini is fairly ho-hum when it comes to any reliability survey you might care to mention. It’s almost as though BMW, with typical German humourlessness, has engineered a little of that British Leyland crappiness charm into each and every little happy-faced Cooper.

And it’s not like I can pull out the old standbys like, “more fun than cars costing twice as much”: this thing is more expensive than a WRX, and not exactly well-optioned. I didn’t play the same game on the US configurator, but in Canada, you can spend upwards of $45K if you tick all the boxes. There’s stuff more expensive by the pound, but not much that’s legal.

So: costly, unreliable, largely impractical, not particularly attractive and somewhat uncomfortable. Can I really recommend this latest Mini?

Not unreservedly, but – well, I suppose it depends on your constitution. It really ought to say on the brochure, “we can offer you nothing but blood, toil, tears and sweat – but it’ll be worth it.” It’s not going to be a Honda Civic, but then, it’s not going to be a Honda Civic.

We enthusiasts complain incessantly about the lack of soul of the modern motor car. About how we’d all exchange a little of that relentless Japanese reliability and economy for a spark of frivolity, a frisson of joy, a soupçon of liveliness. Well, with a Mini, that’s what you get.

Frankly, the only things that would make the Mini coupé better, to my mind, were if it was slightly larger, perhaps a useful hatchback. Maybe if it had two small seats in the back, just in case. Maybe if it looked a little more like the original Mini, and –

Oh.

Oh, I see.

MINI provided the vehicle tested and insurance.

Ever since I test drove the original Honda CRX a quarter-century ago I’ve been a big fan of small cars. In everyday driving I’d rather have a small car with limited power than a large car with a lot of it. And yet I’ve never quite connected with the MINIs I’ve driven. Perhaps I just needed more time in the seat? To find out, I recently spent a week with a MINI Cooper S—a small car with plenty of power.

More than anything else, styling distinguishes a MINI from other small cars. The car’s iconic exterior provides people who would never buy a Fit or a Fiesta with a reason to buy a B-segment hatchback. The tested car’s $500 “spice orange metallic” exterior was further distinguished with a $250 “MINI Yours Tattoo, Funky” graphics package. A MINI’s interior is even more highly styled than its exterior, though one must wonder if the styling in this case helps or hinders sales as ergonomics and ease of use were clearly low on the list of the designers’ priorities. The idiosyncratic controls are different from those in any other car, are in few cases intuitive, and often require more steps than they ought to. The most irritating: after my aging Motorola phone (a very popular model when new) was connected via Bluetooth, I had to hit “okay” five times to accept the MINI’s requests for data transfers every time I started the car. Perhaps the Smartphone Integration is smarter when paired with a more intelligent phone? The speedometer at the top of the center stack is too large and too close to the driver to serve any purpose aside from decoration; there’s a digital speedometer in the tach so the driver can actually tell how fast the car is going. The sliding armrest is too easily and too often bumped backwards when working the shifter. Some of the materials are decent, but many are a lower grade of plastic than the car’s $27,000+ price might suggest.

A MINI’s driving position is similarly unique. You sit lower than in today’s typical small car and well behind an upright windshield. While this lends the car a different, more retro feel compared to run-of-the-mill subcompacts, it also blocks traffic signals until one learns to stop well short of the white line. Otherwise, visibility is very good all around, thanks to thinner pillars than the contemporary norm. The sport buckets provide good lateral support, but comfort is compromised by a headrest that juts too far forward. The seat recliner is located on the inside, where it is hard to reach. The rear seat in the standard MINI hatchback isn’t intended for frequent use by adults. Even my tenth-percentile eight-year-old son complained that it was tight back there. Need more rear seat room? Then step up to the three-door Clubman or four-door Countryman. Cargo room behind the seat is similarly limited to a single row of grocery bags. Nevertheless, by sliding the front passenger seat all the way forward and tipping its seatback I was able to squeeze a bicycle into the car with just the front wheel removed.

Earlier Cooper S’s had supercharged engines, but the blower was replaced by a turbocharger when the car was redesigned a few years ago. Though in years past this would have meant more lag before the boost kicks in and less low-end power, the MINI’s 1.6-liter four largely avoids these traditional disadvantages. One reason: the turboharger is small and a twin-scroll design. The torque peak of 177 foot-pounds runs all the way from 1,600 to 5,000 rpm, with the horsepower peaking at 181 at 5,500. As with other turbocharged engines, the low torque peak is a little deceiving. It’s easy to stall the engine pulling away from a dead stop with the AC on, and there’s a little lag at low rpm. But from 2,500 on up power comes on so smoothly and in such a linear fashion that it’s not even obvious that the engine is boosted. Just strong. Hit the redline in first at WOT, shift, and the engine slams the car forward upon engaging second—the boost is right there, waiting. And yet this engine doesn’t feel as explosive or as smooth as the newer, 188-horsepower direct-injected 1.6 in the Nissan JUKE.

The six-speed manual shifter, dressed in an odd narrow boot and topped with an uncomfortable knob (style uber alles again), feels a little crunchy and reverse can be difficult to locate. It’s still better than any transmission without a clutch. Fuel economy is impressive given the level of performance, with EPA ratings of 27/36 and trip computer reports of 30 to 35 in the suburbs and 40 on the highway. Expected better from such a small car? Well, the MINI Cooper S might only be 146.8 inches long and 66.3 inches wide, but it tips the scales at 2,668 pounds, seven more than the 178.3-by-69.9-inch Hyundai Elantra. Which should at least partly assuage any safety concerns—this isn’t any tin can.

The JUKE’s engine might feel more powerful, but the MINI’s chassis is far more capable of putting its power down. Get even moderately on the gas mid-turn in a front-wheel-drive JUKE, and the inside front tire breaks traction. Do the same in the MINI, and the car rockets out of the curve. A lower center of gravity and better suspension geometry no doubt contribute, but the MINI’s more sophisticated, seam-free traction control system deserves much of the credit.

The MINI’s quick steering feels firm in normal mode, but provides limited feedback and makes the car seem larger and heavier than it is. Hitting the “sport” button further firms up the steering, but the chassis then feels less agile and the steering more artificial without providing more nuanced feedback. I prefer “normal” in all but the most aggressive driving. A shame, as the chassis is otherwise a match for any other front-driver’s, and far better than the JUKE’s, with the precision, balance, composure, and strong responsive brakes that make twisty roads a delight. Unless the road happens to be bumpy, in which case the chassis maintains the selected line but ride quality borders on harsh even without the optional sport suspension. And if you like your cars quiet, this isn’t your car. But then you probably knew that already.

The tested car listed for $27,700 when fitted with the sport package, keyless access, heated cloth seats, and the too clever by half phone integrator. Knock off $250 if you can do without the funky tattoo and another $500 if you can live with a more basic Bluetooth system.

Until the half-foot-shorter, four-inch-taller FIAT 500 Abarth arrives, the significantly larger VW GTI is the Cooper S’s closest competitor. It’s not possible to equip a GTI to a similar level, as MINI lets you order options a la carte (for more of that retro flavor) while VW forces you into the $5,530 Autobahn Package if you must be able to start your car without touching the keys. Xenon headlights require either this package or the navigation system. Do without these features and the GTI checks in about $1,500 below the Cooper S. Adjusting for remaining feature differences using TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool reduces the difference to about $900. Add the Autobahn Package and the VW comes in $3,000 higher than the MINI, but adjusting for its additional features reduces the difference all the way back to about $600. So the Cooper S and GTI are close in price. A MazdaSpeed3 undercuts the MINI by about $1,000, so it’s also in the same ballpark (unless you opt for the $6,100 John Cooper Works package on the MINI to get its straight line performance closer to the Mazda’s). A Nissan JUKE SL, on the other hand, lists for $2,500 less than the MINI, and adjusting for feature differences pushes the gap beyond $4,000.

The MINI Cooper S is certainly fun to drive. But so are the GTI, JUKE, and MazdaSpeed3, all of which can be had for the same or significantly less money. The MINI’s compact dimensions and relatively light weight should lend it a more agile, more tossable character than the others, but this advantage is compromised by the car’s heavy, somewhat artificial steering. Even after a week in the car, this steering came between the MINI and me rather than tightly connecting us. In a midsize sedan this steering would be okay, even better than okay, but a small, powerful hatch deserves a livelier, chattier system. It’s the thing I most wish MINI would improve. (Mazda tends to do the best in this area.) Not that the MINI’s secondary controls don’t also need improvement, as they are among the most difficult to use in any car. A less avoidable weakness: the minimal rear seat and cargo space. If you want a small car with a sporty driving position, these are going to be part of the deal. Add it all up, and there’s only one big reason to get a MINI over the larger, more powerful, better outfitted, and/or less expensive alternatives, and that’s style. Love the look? Then there’s no substitute.

MINI 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.

MINI (all caps required): the name itself inherently limits the brand. A large MINI would be oxymoronic. It would not be seen as a MINI. But most car buyers need something larger and more functional than the Cooper.  And, while MINI might be less intent on world domination than VW, it would still like to grow. What to do, what to do? When word leaked that MINI was working on a crossover, the brand’s fans feared for the worst.

Apparently also fearful, MINI has moved very cautiously. First it dipped a toe in the water with the three-door half-measure known as the Cooper Clubman. Essentially a Cooper with three inches added to the wheelbase and five added to the rear overhang, the Clubman didn’t threaten to undermine the authenticity of the brand. But it also wasn’t much more functional than the regular Cooper. Even with a couple more inches of legroom the rear seat still only warranted a single half-sized rear-hinged door. Cargo volume expanded by about a third, but a third more than very little still isn’t much.

To significantly expand its reach, MINI needed a vehicle in which four adults could travel comfortably. One implication: four real doors. How large could this vehicle be, and still remain authentically a MINI? The trick, lifted straight from the mind of  Navin Johnson: don’t just make it 16 inches longer (for a total of 161.7) and four inches wider (for a total of 70.4); also make it a half-foot taller while keeping the styling as close as possible to the original. This both fools the eye by maintaining the Cooper’s iconic proportions and enlarges the interior. A 61.5-inch height puts the resulting Cooper Countryman into crossover territory, in which case you might as well also offer all-wheel-drive. All three dimensions are within an inch of the Nissan JUKE’s. So while the Countryman might be considerably larger than a Cooper, and it might be a crossover, it’s still dwarfed by even the average “compact” ute. A BMW X3, not exactly known for its size, is 21 inches longer, four inches wider, and four inches taller.

A digression on nameplates: it’s time to drop the “Cooper” from all models save the two-door. It was confusing when Chrysler tagged everything a “LeBaron.” It was confusing when Oldsmobile tagged everything a “Cutlass.” And it’s confusing when MINI does the same with “Cooper.” (It’s also confusing when the same basic car is given many different names, as VW is wont to do, but that’s for another review.) The Clubman was little more than an additional body style, so “Cooper Clubman” was okay, but the Countryman is an entirely different car. People are going to call it a “Countryman” anyway, so why not make it official? When I say “Cooper” in this review, I mean the two-door.

Back to the car. The Countryman loses some cuteness and gains some ruggedness, but the differences are a matter of degree and the car won’t be mistaken for anything but a MINI. Same goes for the interior, which strongly resembles that in the Cooper, just larger.

In keeping with the brand, the center console includes a speedometer so ridiculously oversized that it can’t be read at a glance (best rely on the digital speedometer tucked into the conventionally located tach) and a low-mounted row of toggle switches that similarly prioritizes form over function. Also the same prevalence of hard plastic trim that looks a bit cheap given the prices MINI charges. Would premium materials be un-MINI?

The driving position is different. The Countryman being a crossover, you perch considerably higher than in the other Coopers. Though the windshield is, in the MINI fashion, distant and upright and the beltline is fairly high, visibility is good in all directions. The sport seats standard on the S are firm but comfortable. Their sizable bolsters aren’t just there to look sporty; they fit snugly and don’t give ground in turns. With no power seat adjustments and just a single manual height adjustment, the tilt of the cushion is not adjustable. A dual adjustment used to be standard in cars as lowly as the Hyundai Accent, but it can’t be found in a crossover costing three times as much today.

The Countryman’s back seat is split in two by a pair of rails, to which an optional armrest can be affixed (and which otherwise serves no obvious purpose). This means there’s no spot for a third person, but the cabin is too narrow for three across anyway. The specs suggest that there’s hardly more legroom than in a Clubman (up 1.5 inches in back, but down an inch in front), and so still 3-4 inches short of the typical compact crossover. Subjectively, though, the rear seat in the Countryman is much more comfortable than that in the Clubman and roomier than that in the JUKE. The higher seating position, which provides much better thigh support, helps a lot. Additional perks: the Countryman’s second row slides and reclines.

Cargo volume behind the second row, 12.2 cubic feet, is more than double that in the Cooper. Folding the second row increases the volume to 41.3 cubic feet, vs. 24.0 in the Cooper and 32.8 in the Clubman. Though still well short of the typical compact crossover (X3: 19.4, 56.5), the Countryman easily outdoes the JUKE (8.9, 29.3). Runs to CostCo shouldn’t pose a problem unless one finally falls for that 65-inch LCD.

The Countryman is about 200 pounds heavier than the Clubman and about 400 heavier than the Cooper. In base form it nudges under the 3,000 mark. Add a turbocharger, an automatic, and all-wheel-drive, as in the tested Cooper S Countryman ALL4, and curb weight increases to a not-so-MINI 3,252 pounds—about 200 more than the similarly dimensioned JUKE. To motivate these extra pounds the Countryman employs…the exact same engines as the other MINIs. So the 121-horsepower naturally-aspirated 1.6-liter four has its work cut out for it, especially if teamed with the six-speed manually-shiftable automatic. The sixty horsepower added by the S’s turbo are most certainly welcome. Even with them the Countryman isn’t a rocket, but acceleration is easily adequate. For best results, get the manual transmission. Turbo lag is minimal and, perhaps thanks to the all-wheel-drive, torque steer is absent.

Fuel economy, according to the EPA: 23 city, 30 highway. Though not exactly stellar, the lighter JUKE does only a bit better (25/30) and the slower Suzuki SX4 doesn’t do quite as well (23/29). If you want much better numbers you’re going to have to give up all-wheel-drive.

All-wheel-drive can deaden a car’s handling, but not this time. Instead, the system adds one entertaining feature that’s new to the brand: throttle-induced oversteer. Not much of it, but enough to have some fun, especially on slick surfaces, and it’s easily controllable. The interior bits might not all be the hardiest, but the body itself feels rock solid when chucking the car through tight turns. Especially with the standard suspension there’s more body lean than in the lower Cooper, but not too much, and certainly no slop. The steering is quick (if still far from go kart quick—banish that analogy) and, if not chatty, much more direct than the system in the JUKE. Hitting a “sport” button bumps up the steering effort, but the resulting feel is more artificial.

Put it all together, and this small crossover has the taut but lively character of a MINI, just with a higher seating position and a little less agility. The Countryman is one of those cars that can be precisely positioned with a minimum of thought. You point, it goes. The brand’s character hasn’t been sacrificed in pursuit of a livable back seat.

Also surprisingly livable, given the brand’s past: the Countryman’s ride quality (at least with the standard suspension). The taller body likely permits more suspension travel. Though still no Lexus, the Countryman generally opts to absorb bumps rather than pound them (and you) into submission.

So, what’s not to like? This being a European car, it would be the price. To its credit, MINI has priced the Countryman only $550 higher than the Clubman, all of which can be accounted for in extra features such as power rear windows and reclining rear seats. The starting price of $22,350 seems reasonable, but the options are plentiful and quickly add up. The tested vehicle checked in at $33,500 despite being modestly optioned (heated leatherette seats, panoramic sunroof, xenons, H/K audio, Bluetooth). Checking all of the boxes would add another $5,000, and you still wouldn’t have a power driver’s seat or an upscale interior. You can save $1,250 by opting for a clutch, but there’s not a lot of fat otherwise in the tested vehicle’s $33,500 sticker.

Check the same boxes on a Nissan JUKE, and the total comes to only $25,300. And this number includes leather, nav, and keyless ignition. Add these features to the MINI, and the sticker swells to $35,650. In its defense, the MINI does include many features not even available on the Nissan, most notably a two-panel panoramic sunroof. Adjust for these using TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool, and the difference shrinks to a mere $7,700.

Compared to European alternatives, the Countryman’s price seems much more reasonable. Similarly configure a larger but much less stylish Volkwagen Tiguan, then adjust for remaining feature differences, and it can run up to a grand higher than the MINI. Any other Euro ute costs far more.

Also quite possibly not to like: reliability, or a lack thereof. MINIs don’t have a good reputation here…but they might be getting better. Based on responses to TrueDelta’s  Car Reliability Survey,  the current Cooper is worse than average with its first model year (2008) but not too far from the average with newer cars. How will the Countryman, an all-new model, fare? Time will tell.

The Countryman is no MINI Cayenne. With it, the look and feel of a MINI has been successfully transferred to a four-door, four-passenger, optionally all-wheel-drive vehicle. If you want a MINI, but need to fit four reasonably-sized adults and a couple of bags into it, this is your car. Just be aware that it is a European car, with a sticker to match.

Brad Paris of Motor City MINI provided the car. He can be reached at 248-997-7700. TTAC HQ  declined the expenses for a car wash. Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta, an online source of automotive reliability and pricing data.

There it was: a honk, a pair of grins and waves from two middle aged women in a MINI Cooper. It was time to find out whether these MINI fans approve of my epic (patent pending) Mehta parking lot swagger, or if the allure of the John Cooper Works MINI had reduced them to smiles. After all, the JCW is more than just a serious piece of hot-hatch kit, it’s wake-up call for the non-believer: spend some time in this car and you’ll have no choice but to learn just how crazy people are about their MINIs. And in this cult of the cutesy and subcompact, the John Cooper Works is king. But does any of this actually justify parting with $33,000 for a tiny, front-drive car?

I suspect my onlookers weren’t concerned with the homage to the 50th anniversary of Mr. Cooper’s original win in the world of F1 racing. To most, the John Cooper Works (JCW) is another showroom-spec MINI; a tirelessly cute, two box, three-door with exquisite detailing and distinctly non-Asian chassis “hard points” and proportioning. And since MINIs are trimmed to an owner’s personality, this one’s got the sinister black paint, red top/stripes/mirror skullcaps and black 18” wheels of a would-be Dracula in need of cheeky transportation. The more aggressive chin spoiler and JCW badging proves the point, in a somewhat low-key manner.

The JCW’s (almost) serious looking black/red interior, piano black plastic accents and unique, deconstructed checkered flag dash plaque are perfect MINI fanboi fodder. Every bit and bauble is reasonably expensive to sight and touch, with logical ergonomics from the center stack’s overtly adorable design. I’ve yet to find a soul dark enough to frown at the MINI’s retro toggle switchgear and oversize central speedometer cum ICE screen. The Harmon/Kardon stereo is impressive enough and the high-tech features are dandy, but the inaccurate, micro i-Drive joystick takes patience, control and planning to reach one’s visual destination.

Seat comfort is generally excellent, up front: like every MINI hatchback, the hindquarters work for frathouse tests of loyalty. With feet positioned in the opposite foot well and torso rested against the quarter panel, I leaned-back like a financially-sheltered, Preppy Gangsta. So I enjoyed my time back there, more than my last physical.

But, for a party of two, the JCW-fettled MINI is an enthusiast’s treat: the requisite short ratio 6-speed stick, excellent sightlines, twin scroll turbo-four and an electronic differential keeping 208 horses and 192 lb-ft of torque (at a disturbingly low 1850 revs) in check. Yes, it drives the wrong set of wheels, but here’s the kicker: there’s no torque steer.

Right. Except that’s misleading: the JCW did a fine job eliminating the problems associated with running way too much power to the front wheels. But replacing a well-recognized dynamic with the powertrain equivalent of hydrocodone is unsettling: mash the gas mid-corner and the steering/throttle inputs go numb, especially in first gear. Much like trying to walk after your legs fall asleep, I had no clue what this MINI was doing before redline (quickly) approached in first, and grabbed second in hopes that whatever was going down lingered for the next blast through the powerband. It did, it worked: even with the active handling turned off.

But it wasn’t enjoyable. While the limited-slip-this and electronically-modulated-that kept the JCW straight, it’s a buzzkill. Then again, there’s no MINI worthy of picking off Porkers. Enjoy this fashion statement as-is, at less than full throttle in the twisties. Because, like its brethren, the JCW hatchback is far more fun than can be measured with a stopwatch.

The steering, off the electronic sizzurp, is the perfect blend of light and tight. Ditto the linear throttle/brakes and the MINI’s collective ability for delightfully effortless turn-in. Microseconds later, the grippy rubber held the JCW in place, letting the suspension corner flat in damn near any situation. If not for the traffic-infested streets of Houston, I suspect the JCW’s tendency to understeer at the limit is muted via lift-off oversteer. It felt like it could go there: a lovely notion with a chassis this sorted.

And what about the rest? The JCW MINI is a treat around town, provided you avoid bumps larger than pimples on a tween. Standstill acceleration in the straights is less drug-hazed as in the corners, and highway passing is far too effortless for a motor so tiny: wind the turbo to redline in the upper gears and MINI’s “overboost” feature seemingly adds the torque of a Cummins diesel to the mix. It’s a giggle-inducing experience that, like most MINI attributes, can’t be put in words without sounding like an autojourno’s cop out.

Back to reality: a $33,000 price deep in 370Z Sport and Brembo-5.0 Mustang territory. Perhaps a used 996/Boxster or a pristine C5 Z06 Vette corner killer instead? This is not where hot-hatches should live.

The John Cooper Works MINI is absolutely dying for a game changer (all-wheel drive, anyone?) to differentiate it from the lower echelon models. As it sits, this is a statement for fashionistas looking for a modicum of sports car prowess in their adorably-marketed hatchback. If a MINI completes your look, stick with cheaper models.

TTAC’s Facebook peeps make this review super interactive, if you aren’t a fan of us, hurry up and join the bandwagon already! Here are your personalized answers. Mike Fox: For a small hatchback, it is livable, road noise is pretty tame compared to a Miata. Christian Seabaugh: having not driven the newer WRX,GTI, the JCW appears to be a lousy value, but better at turning heads. James Mackintosh: nope, I’d rather have a Cooper S and your aforementioned $7,600 in the bank. David Hoyt: Go-Karts are nuts, this is still closer to a GTI. Darren Williams: it is “as effing awesome to drive as it is to look at”, but so is a Cooper S. Tony Josephson: back seat is no fun, I suspect the Mazdaspeed3 is a better performance value for most pistonheads and is a more capable urban commuter vehicle too.

The giant panda has been largely unchanged for millions of years. Evolution made some nips and tucks, but mostly let the species be. Perhaps because the design is right. Strong, capable, cute as . . . well . . . as a Mini Cooper, also largely unchanged since last we looked. So, is no news good news or has the Mini been left behind?

My Mini was Toy Fire Truck red. They call it something else in the brochure and they’re wrong. The rolling curves, contrasting tones, Bambi eyes and Cheshire Cat smile make you not so much want to drive this car as play with it.

The inside amps up that feeling: Radar screen gauges, rocker switches sourced from a Spitfire—you feel like you’re in Thunder Bird 6. All of the controls move smoothly. Most are supple plastic with only a hint of cheapness in the hard-to-reach places. It’s not intuitive, or even logical sometimes—window lifts sit where ashtrays used to hang. Love it or hate it, the interior is distinctive.

It is also practical. Two ‘growns’ fit just fine up front. Two half-growns fit OK in back. Seats up gives you 5.7 sq. feet of cargo space—less than a sidecar. Seats down and you’ve got 24 sq. feet behind a wide hatch. The aquarium design results in visibility bested only by a convertible. As goofy as the whole design seems, it’s not sacrificing utility.

The car is actually not big on sacrifice. 28, 37, 32 are great measurements . . . for mileage (city, highway, combo). That’s what you get with 118 horsepower. Just when you think you’re giving up fun for the sake of fuel savings, the real charm of the Mini shows.

The dual layshaft Getrag six-speed (a four speed with two output shafts) and snappy clutch let you juice the motor as much as you like. The throws are short, so you can keep the little engine in the biggest part of its power-band. The whole drivetrain has a puppy-waiting-by-the-door attitude.

The electronic steering lets you maximize the engine output. It tightens up nicely at speed and relaxes to park. It’s also one of the elements affected by the Sport button on the shifter boot. Pressing it warns the various on-board computers that mileage is not your primary concern. The steering firms up more quickly and the throttle response hastens. As these things happen anyway after the Mini’s processors have judged you, the button is more affectation than innovation. Still, pushing it helps warn your passengers, too.

Which they will thank you for once you start tossing this thing around. Yes, the car is style-conscious and gitchy [Ed. kitschy?]. The chassis, suspension and brakes give the style substance. The Mini is a fully flauntable sports car, even in base form. The normally aspirated engine doesn’t have the punch of the S model’s power-plant. That also means you can drive flat out loony and never get into trouble. Mini Legal would never let Mini Marketing say this, but I can: Minis can’t be rolled. You will never tip, spin or punch this car beyond your control. Go on. Try.

In whipping your Mini the worst that will happen is tire wear. And that’s great. The sooner you slip out of the run-flats and into something less comfortable the better. I have no complaints with the grip of the stock all seasons; it’s that they so efficiently convert comfort into noise.

Which can be mitigated by any number of the 7.2 million options available for the vehicle. The car is customizable from the dealer in ways previously found only in the truck center. Mine had Bluetooth phone integration and an iPod dock, allowing me to control the MP3 player from the stereo or, even better, right from the steering wheel, correcting the tire noise.

The way most of us use our cars most of the time the Mini is superb. No bragging rights. No smoked Trans Ams at the stoplight. Certainly no crossing the Rubicon. It’s nimble, athletic and supports your life, rather than add a new burden. That’s probably one of the best things you can say about any purchase.

It’s also, I believe, the way the car buying public is headed. As we wake up from the current recession and feel the pressure of pent-up demand, I think an increasing number of consumers are going to be looking a car that does more with less. There will always be a market for a bike ramp with 500 pound feet of torque or a gentleman’s club on 19″ rims. The trend, for the meat of the market, will bend towards usable fun. It already shows in the steadily growing list of Mini competitors. None of which are putting it on the endangered species list.

The entire argument for choosing the MINI Clubman over the regular MINI: the MINI’s too mini. Compared to the classic MINI, the Clubman is 10 inches and 140lbs. more car. It’s like a breakfast cereal advert: “Five percent more MINI!” Of course, that misses the entire point of the cute subcompact, doesn’t it? And if it doesn’t, is that a problem? Yes.

From the outside, you’d swear that MINI Clubman was owned by Volvo, not BMW (who owns MINI). Until now only the Swedes had mastered the art of creating an entire range of cars (and redesigns) that look exactly the same. The brand faithful will instantly recognize the Clubman for what it is: a stretched Cooper with cargo van doors. The rest may wonder… nothing. Once again, still, round headlights, wheel arches and mirrors and the [available] color contrasting roof will convince your neighbors that you are exploring the latest in car fashion, rather than penny-pinching, or saving the environment (Prius anyone?).

Despite the cute looks and length increase, the cargo area is still too small for serious grocery-getting. Warehouse store runs should only be attempted if you are bereft of passengers. This MINI is ready for a day at the trendy shops, but your Ferragamo shopping bags won’t feel as special as they do in the back of your Merc or BMW. Tie downs? Nope. Awesome load system? Nada. Nifty nets? Niet.

Half of the MINI’s maximization takes places in the back seats, making it physically possible (though not entirely comfortable) for four 6’3”people to travel within. If you plan on carrying a quartet of American-sized dudes, go for the auto; you’ll have to slide the driver’s seat forward and there won’t be room to operate the stick. While there’s enough space in the rear for one or two child seats, inserting said sprogs is an ordeal. On the positive side, the third door makes it easier to load and unload adults. Britons will notice that the MINI Clubman’s door is on the wrong side. Everyone else will notice they can’t see squat out the back.

Of course, MINI isn’t trying to pretend to be British these days. Instead, they’re getting as much mileage out as possible of “designed by BMW.” Which is OK because I like my British cars to look British and act German (if they could be dependable like cars from the land of the rising sun I’d be in heaven). Inside ze MINI Clubman you see BMW’s touch everywhere– from the quality parts to the aggravating controls on the navigation system. While the toys abound– nav system with live traffic, Bluetooth hands-free, iPod integration, etc.– the cost of admission is BMW high. Meanwhile, haptic horrors. Seriously, my 1990s Chrysler had better mouse fur in its trunk than the MINI has for its headliner. You won’t find less convincing “silver” plastic anywhere outside of a box marked Revell.

Under the hood rattles the same Peugeot four-banger as the regular MINI in 118, 172 or 208HP flavors. This isn’t the smoothest 1.6-liter mill, but I’ll forgive it because the Germans fitted a turbo to the S model (172HP) and trained the car in the art of blitzkrieg. While 6.7 seconds to 60 may not sound fast, I’d like to see you do that in your soapbox racer. As with all MINIs, the front wheel-drive (FWD) Clubman is a far more entertaining piece of kit mit the $500 limited slip differential. In any case, the maximum MINI adds a small improvement in high-speed stability.

If driving comfort is your thing, this is not your ride. The Clubman S suffers from torque steer, wheel hop, stiff crashing suspensions. Any sharp motion on the go pedal from a stop elicits wheel spin, possible smoke, turned heads and death threats from econo-box owners (they aren’t having as much fun as you). As much as I like thrashing about a FWD car, when it comes down to the promise of sports car driving, the MINI falls well short of the bar.

I really wanted to like the MINI Clubman S. It has enough room to tempt me away from my Euro cruiser, enough panache to satisfy my brand awareness and cute enough to make my mother happy. But at the end of the day, the Clubman is deeply conflicted and hugely expensive. Starting north of $24k and ending-up firmly in the $45s (if you let your options get away from you), this little car loses appeal in a big way. Combine that with the “fast around the curves if you don’t use the throttle” nature and most of the magic vanishes. Pass with care.

George Clooney is box office catnip AND the critics’ darling. And no wonder: he looks great and he acts better than he looks. But what if you’re a movie producer who can’t afford Clooney’s vig? You get Thomas Haden Church. You know: the guy in Sideways, the movie about chit-chatting wine guzzlers. Sideway's producer knew Church wasn’t nearly as high profile as Clooney, but he was a lot less expensive. See where I’m going with this? If the MINI Cooper S is beyond your reach, should you lower your grasp? Big savings yes, but do you still get something of substance? Well, Church is an Oscar nominee. As for the Cooper…

It’s a relief to see an automobile that wasn’t designed in anger. Unlike Japanese and German sporting machines’ menacing headlights and blood-drawing creases, the Cooper remains a four-wheeled cheeky chappie. Although the MINI was maximized for ’07, only OCD brand fans can make the call. In case you meet a MINI enthusiast, just remember that the front indicators now sit like laconic “floaters” inside the MINI’s eyes, and the rear window line rises 0.7” higher up at the B-pillar than previously.

Thanks to the Mother of All Option Lists, the Cooper’s cabin is as plain or ornate as you desire, covered in funky cloth or leather or mother of pearl or space shuttle tiles. Most of the first gen’s retro touches (e.g. chromed toggle switches and unrelenting ovality) remain in situ. While these design-lead differentiators may continue to lure buyers who are comfortable deploying the term “post-modern irony” in polite conversation, the Cooper’s cabin is beginning to look increasingly whacked-out.

Equally disappointing, there’s no British-ness to the MINI Cooper. Cocked eyebrow whimsy has been replaced with weird for the sake of weird. The big central speedo of MINI Mk1 has morphed into a dinner plate-sized gauge that could easily double as the weigh-in scale for The Biggest Loser. Still, the ergonomics are bloodied but unbowed, and the fit and finish overall is impressive; part and parcel of Mini’s premium-puny philosophy.

So you stick the fob in the dash, press the “START/STOP” affectation, and fire up the engine. Hang on; can you “fire up” an engine with less displacement than a bottle of Diet Coke? In fact, it’s amazing to us buy-by-the-pound Americans that BMW would dare offer the 118 horse Cooper for sale on this side of the pond. That’s less poke underfoot than offered by a lowly a Kia Spectra. But unlike the original MINI's base (in the precise sense of the word) engine, which was made from rusted toaster ovens in a Brazilian Chrysler factory, the new 1.6 liter four-pot is a peach.

This PSA Peugeot-Citroen sourced mill doesn’t rev like one of Honda’s methamphetamine motors, but there’s plenty of space between zero revs and the 6500 rpm redline. The manual shifter is as slick as Clooney’s hair in O, Brother Where Art Thou? Whatever oomph there is is there for the taking. Metrosexuals and their mates will be delighted to discover that MINI has finally replaced the Continuously Vile Transmission with a proper six-speed autobox. Punch the pedal or row your boat; the best case is still naught to 60 in 8.5 seconds. Not too long ago you would have been impressed.

In day to day driving, the Cooper has plenty of zip. No, it’s not a Cooper S, but it’s still a car that could get you arrested… eventually. That’s because the suspension rewards any and all efforts to build the big Mo. Once you get a lick of speed and get into the game, the MINI’s handling becomes seriously addictive. Snap into a corner. More! Push into an S-curve. Is that really all you’ve got? Surge around a highway on-ramp at 73 mph. Down shift because damn it Scotty, we need more power! I dare you to drive the Cooper a few miles without cackling like a cocaine-crazed craps player.

Come to think of it, the Cooper is a smug little bastard of a car. I don’t have to brake for that turn. I can carve through traffic. I can fit into that parking space. I get 40 mpg highway. Unlike that psychotic dust-buster Civic, I've got completely customizable character. And I have to pay for home delivery because I can’t haul a damn thing. Err, never mind that last one.

No pistonhead worth his TTAC Tic Tacs would pass up a chance to buy a MINI Cooper S instead of a Cooper. Used S instead of new Cooper. Sorted. But let’s face it: there are plenty of people for whom $18k is already a stretch. And no other box fresh sub-$20k car has half the MINI Cooper’s flair and panache. Clooney’s cool, but sometimes you gotta go to Church.

Truth to tell, I was feeling a bit blah about my MINI road test. But the moment The Man handed me the key to a 2007 MINI Cooper S, I perked up. The ignition device is now a circular pad with a stubby base; my first inclination was to open a channel to Starfleet and ask Scotty to beam me up. Once inside, I was instructed to stash the pad and press the button. Keyless ignition in a car the size of a 7-Series escape pod? Who’d a thunk it?

And who knew the Bavarians had a sense of humor? More charitably, the MINI’s interior looks like it was created by a grove of unsupervised Apple Computer designers. (It’s only a matter of time before the MINI’s key includes an I-Pod.) The fuel gauge is now a circular ring of digital lights on the speedometer pod, with a “range to empty” display on the information section of the tachometer pod, in script familiar to BMW owners (if not MS Word users).

Drivers are confronted by a wide range of organic looking toggles and indentures, operating all manner of controls. Who cares how it all works? And who cares that not all the materials are above average? Most are, and when you encounter the odd flimsy piece, the clever design more than compensates. Even the casual visitor instantly appreciates that fact that the BMW’s British box is a no-holds-barred style statement, not an Audi.

To that end, buyers can personalize their MINI Cooper S in a trillion ways, right down to checkered flag side mirror caps ($130) and a “Let’s Motor” license plate holder ($35). What’s more, the MINI is the only car you can customize without completely destroying its resale value. My favorite new interior color is the Tuscan beige; I love the look but could live without the pretentious name. 

The biggest change from old MINI to new: a Peugeot-sourced, BMW-fettled, 1.6-liter turbo four. The new engine’s a more powerful lump than the old supercharged Brazilian mill (172 horsepower and 177 pound feet of torque vs. 168/162). As a result, the zero to 60 time is slightly quicker (6.7 versus 7.2 seconds) with better fuel economy (29/36).

While the new MINI has a wider (i.e. more useful) power band and will now cruise at triple digits without threatening to rattle itself to pieces, it doesn’t feel quite as eager out of the blocks as the old car. There’s a nasty lag between depressing the go pedal and the onset of acceleration. It feels… dumbed down. Until, that is, you press the Sport button.

In many sports cars, even some of the more expensive models, activating the Sport button creates little more than a psychological effect. In the new MINI, it’s undeniably transformative. In an instant, both the MINI Cooper’s electric steering system and its fly-by-wire throttle tighten up. Like a dull pencil thrust into an electric sharpener, the MINI is suddenly ready to draw the finest of racing lines.  

Compared to the corner carving capabilities of the previous version, the new MINI Cooper S in Sport mode feels about 20% more wonderfully, joyously flickable. It still stays flat and level through vicious corners. It still turns in with all the eagerness of a toddler’s mother. But the added layer of maturity and refinement in the drivetrain and the additional feel through the helm build significantly more confidence into the system. 

Enough confidence, in fact, to imperil the sporting driver’s license– and embolden him or her to switch off the MINI Cooper S’ DSC stability control. And yet, even without considering the necessity of the optional limited slip differential, there’s something important missing from the re-mix: an aggressive exhaust note.

For reasons most probably related to Europe’s drive-by noise regulations, the MINI Cooper S’ aural burble, zizz and growl are gone. On one hand, the relative silence (and proper autobox option) make the MINI Cooper S a more refined and therefore viable daily driver. On the other, the muted motor removes much of the reason for driving the thing as it wants to be driven. It's a major miscalculation mandating post-purchase mechanical surgery.

Otherwise, the MINI Cooper S is good to go. Literally.

Deconstructing a design icon is tricky at best. At the risk of alienating the faithful, I’ll say this much: the new car is nearly twice as large as the original and violates designer Alec Issigonis’s basic tenet (80% of the vehicle is dedicated to passengers, the remaining 20% is for mechanicals and luggage). Other than that, I think the new MINI looks like a toddler’s high top sneaker. Oh, and I love the J Mays’ cribbed headlights and the fact that the rear is wider than the front. So, um, moving on.

Once inside, I felt an overwhelming urge to pop a Prozac. Call me a frumpy, but I could barely cope with the unrelenting designer-ness of the thing. The cabin is awash in chrome, plastic that looks like chrome, plastic that looks like plastic and twinkling glass. Our tester came with the Cockpit Chrono Pack, which is even more ADD-inducing than the default set-up. MINI’s speedometer moves to the top of the wheel (next to the tach) leaving the space for oil, fuel and temperature readouts (where's the boost gauge?). Although the MINI is billed as pint-sized luxury, I reckon the point of luxury (in any amount) is to relax. The Cooper’s innards almost induced seizures. Moving on.

The MINI Cooper S is loaded to the gills with go-faster bits: oxymoronic performance run-flat tires, 17” inch aluminum wheels, McPherson struts (front), a multi-link suspension (rear), equal-length drive shafts and a supercharger. The blower bangs out 168 horses for just 2678 pounds of, um, style. A ludicrously tall first gear (4.455) and the inherent FWD dragster drawbacks means it takes nearly seven seconds for the MINI to get from rest to 60mph. This stat wasn’t all that bad back in 2001. In 2006, the similarly priced Mazda Speed3 does the deed a full second faster. The MINI’s not slow, but it’s not a whole lot of fun to flog the transverse-mounted 1.6-liter four in a straight line.

I’ve never been a big fan of any BMW cog-swapping solution; in the MINI’s manual, the good people of Bavaria don’t disappoint my sense of disappointment. First of all, the MINI’s gearbox is a long-throw shifter. Such a device might have seemed appropriate back when the Sixties were swung, but today it just feels cheap and clumsy. The supercharger’s horsepower-sucking reality means that the second you lift your foot from the gas to shift, the engine loses 1500rpm. So even when you get the gear you think you wanted, it’s not the gear you actually need. Try as I might to whip this little whip, my plans were foiled first by the engine, and then by the gears.

I’ve been driving go-carts quite a bit lately, so I feel qualified to judge the MINI’s similarity to same. After caning the MINI through California hill and dale, I can proclaim here and now that the MINI Cooper S is indeed the world’s fattest go-cart. The initial turn-in is awesome: tight, accurate and eager. Right until the apex of a turn, the MINI lives up to the hype, steering and responding with the kind of rapid fire, laser-guided confidence that makes motorized dinner trays such a kick in the ass. From the turning point on, the go-cart analogy drives straight into the metaphorical tire wall.

Lest we forget, go-carts are rear wheel-driver machines. After you finish the turn, you plant your foot and power your way home. The MINI is front wheel-drive. Assuming you’re lucky enough to find 4000rpm and summon 162 foot-pounds of torque, flooring it out of a corner creates a nightmarish mix of understeer plowing and angry steering. I tried the same trick with the traction control off– and wondered if my insurance premiums were up to date. While cute, the MINI is not a track-day option.

Though not yet on our shores, BMW is embiggening the newish “MINI” and ditching the blower for a turbo. Let’s just hope the company’s chassismeisters have sorted the MINI’s on-the-limit handing. If so, the British go-cart will fully deserve the pistonhead plaudits it already receives.