JAGUAR’S F-TYPE IS A TRUE SUCCESSOR TO THE ICONIC E-TYPE
The sophisticated yet slightly unhinged muscle car and cruiser have much in common
The project had its fits and starts over the years, but in the end, four decades passed before Jaguar built a true successor to its beloved E-Type sports car. The F-Type arrived in 2014 with much resting on its shapely shoulders — expectations were higher than the front row of a Grateful Dead concert.
And really, how do you follow an act like the E-Type? Enzo Ferrari called it the most beautiful car in the world. There’s one on permanent display at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. Austin Powers rocked an E-Type adorned in Union Jack livery and dubbed it the “Shaguar.” Yeah, baby.
Thankfully, the F-Type turned out to be a cracking good sports car, now available with four-, six- and eight-cylinder power. Perhaps more importantly, it’s a visual stunner thanks to Jaguar design chief Ian Callum and his associate, Wayne Burgess. As a coupe, the F-Type sensuously flows from prow to truncated stern in a way only a Jaguar can. Muscular rear haunches are a hallmark of Callum’s sports cars design, an element he says is essential to the Jaguar esthetic.
Tested here, this bright red top-cat SVR (about $160,000 as tested) represents the pinnacle of the lineup. Its supercharged 5.0-litre V8 engine, with 575 horsepower and 516 pound-feet of torque, sends power to all four wheels through an eight-speed automatic transmission. It also sends — courtesy of its titanium exhaust — an aural barrage of barks, farts, cackles, backfires and all other manner of anti-social volleys. Somehow, this is legal.
Yet, on this excursion from my house in Oakville to the rolling Halton Hills in Ontario, the F-Type is not garnering the usual gawks. Blame my good friend Russ Little and his 1974 Jaguar E-Type V12 roadster for that. All eyes are drawn to the lithe silver siren that glides ethereally behind my growling, winged brute.
Do they care that the SVR has twice the power, twice the number of gears, twice as many driven wheels and can blow through the 100 km/h mark in 3.7 seconds on its way to a top speed of 322 km/h? Nah.
We don’t care, either. This drive is all about experiencing the old and the new, the final year of the E-Type along with Jag’s latest muscle-bound F-Type. Ideally, we would’ve used the $143,500 F-Type SVR convertible for this, but since none were available, we’ll settle for the $140,500 coupe.
By the numbers, the 1974 E-Type’s 5.3-L V12, with its four SU carburetors, makes 268 hp, 304 lb-ft of torque and propels the roadster from zero to 100 km/h in 6.1 seconds. It also purrs like — it must be said — a big cat. Against the F-Type’s theatrics and histrionics, the E-Type emits a stately, mellifluous song.
Time to hop into the silver time machine and slip back 44 years. The E-Type’s featherweight door shuts with a mechanical click reminiscent of an old fridge. The dash is close, the pencil-thin-rimmed wheel even closer. It’s a tight cabin and you do feel exposed in here: The Jag’s low cowl line and small seats with short backs are completely at odds with all the protection found in a modern car.
I twist the tiny ignition key, but the big twelve doesn’t light. Oh yeah, no fuel injection. Russ gives me some coaching: “Give the throttle a couple of quick jabs, twist the key and when it catches, give it a little gas. After that, you can let it idle. And wait a bit before shifting to second. The synchros are getting weak.”
Ah, so much character. So British. I’m not even going to look for an oil patch underneath. I pull away, managing not to crunch second gear, and soon the quintessential wind-in-the-hair experience is ours. This V12 Jag is all about the cruise. It’s a very relaxed roadster with light steering, somewhat floaty body control and smooth torque delivery. This ain’t no back-road burner, and if you were to drive it like a hooligan you’d soon have your hands full with a tippy, front-heavy classic with somewhat ineffective inboard brakes. And possibly an admonishing letter from the Queen.
Ah, but the ride is a dream. While the handle-on-rails F-Type SVR never really settles down, thanks to its trackready suspension and low profile, 20-inch wheels and tires, the E-Type’s 205/70/15 Michelins ensure most pesky road imperfections never ruffle your tweed.
Then, Russ jumps into the F-Type SVR to experience the other side of the coin. As with most modern performance cars, the SVR’s talents range from demure to demonic. It’s perfectly happy to dawdle around town, but tap into the SVR’s performance potential and things change rapidly.
Which we do. But first, a wee bit of preparation. We tap the shift lever to the left for Sport, which opens up the exhaust and sharpens the transmission’s shift points. Then, we select dynamic mode from the toggle on the console. This loosens the reins on the stability control, stiffens suspension and extends the rear spoiler, yada yada yada.
“Okay Russ,” I say. “Give it some welly!”
The supercharged V8 has near-instant throttle response, and as expected, the brilliant transmission manufactured by ZF, found in everything from Bentleys to BMWs to Ram trucks, bangs off shifts with the alacrity of a dual-clutch. The overall feel of this Jag is one of a highly sophisticated, yet slightly unhinged muscle car. The thrills only really happen when you’re legally out of bounds.
Having never floored a “three-second car,” Russ’s eyes are as wide as the lovely Smith’s gauges of his E-Type’s dash. Indeed, these two Jaguar sports cars are a universe apart when it comes to the driving experience. Yet despite that, it’s not hard to see a connection that spans the 44 years. They are both exclusive, undeniably gorgeous to behold, and built solely for one pursuit: The passion of motoring. Timeless indeed.