The Munich company's flagship sedan was nothing less than everything the
company knew about car building, and that was quite a lot. Perfectly
constructed, astonishingly fast and utterly besotted with technology,
the big, gracious 7-series had but two flaws: The first was something
called iDrive, a rotary dial/joystick controller situated on the center
console, through which drivers adjusted dozens of vehicle settings, from
climate, navigation and audio functions to things like the sound of the
door chime. The reason for iDrive and similar systems is that designers
were running out of room for switches and instruments. The trouble was
that the iDrive was hard to work. Damn near impossible, in fact. Drivers
spent many hair-pulling minutes driving to figure out how to add radio
presets, for example, or turn up the air conditioning. When confronted
with complaints, BMW engineers said, with barely disguised contempt: Ze system werks pervectly. Dis is no problem.
Since 2002, BMW has gradually improved iDrive to make it more
intuitive, but it's still a pain. The other flaw? The silly bubble butt,
called the Bangle Bustle, after lead designer Chris Bangle.
What makes a car bad? Is it the car with the worst exterior styling? The most dreadful interior? The most uncomfortable ride? The least reliable/most poorly made? Or is it a dismal combination of all these factors? For our purposes, the worst car in the world is not only the vehicle that incorporates the most of these negative traits, but also more importantly, has no redeeming qualities of what makes a car great whatsoever.
Friday, December 11, 2015
2001 Pontiac Aztek
I was in the audience at the Detroit auto show the day GM unveiled the
Pontiac Aztek and I will never forget the gasp that audience made. Holy
hell! This car could not have been more instantly hated if it had a
Swastika tattoo on its forehead. In later interviews with GM designers —
who, for decency's sake, will remain unnamed — it emerged that the
Aztek design had been fiddled with, fussed over, cost-shaved and
otherwise compromised until the tough, cool-looking concept had been
reduced to a bulky, plastic-clad mess. A classic case of losing the
plot. The Aztek violates one of the principal rules of car design: We
like cars that look like us. With its multiple eyes and supernumerary
nostrils, the Aztek looks deformed and scary, something that dogs bark
at and cathedrals employ to ring bells (cf., Fiat Multipla). The shame
is, under all that ugliness, there was a useful, competent crossover.
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