Freakish cars that we’re (kind of) glad were made

When production vehicles’ peak engine outputs (and not to mention price tags) beggar belief or their concepts are so downright bonkers – or foolish – that they somehow seem to make sense, well, you’ve entered the realm of freakish (yet lovable) cars.

Hobbies and car collecting were probably not what Karl Marx had in mind when he scripted the capitalism-critiquing Das Kapital. Yet today, these very pastimes personify the absolute power of consumerism, according to which we are never satisfied with what we have.

*Citroen C3 Pluriel owners could partially dis- and reassemble their cars into 5 open-top variants. It sounds fun, but wasn’t.*

Marx would have undoubtedly rolled his eyes at every facet of what Brad Pitt represents (except the choice of his 2 ex-wives) but would have most certainly raised a shot of vodka to anthemic platitudes from The Fight Club film such as “We are consumers. We’re the by-products of a lifestyle obsession.”

That obsession (the root of eternal dissatisfaction?) is driven by aspiration, and the psychology thereof is the hallmark of every single maker of luxury consumer goods on Earth. Let’s start with a simple example.

You buy jeans from Mr Price, but really lust after a pair of Levi’s, even if they fulfil precisely the same purpose. You have a Samsung… but it’s no iPhone. And you drive a BMW M340i, but in your mind, you’re not getting a date with that girl at the gym unless it’s a BMW M4. The same goes for the Alfa Romeo Giulia Veloce and Quadrifoglio, Audi S4 and RS4, and Mercedes-AMG C43 and C63. The former will forever – are quite unjustly – live in the latter’s shadow. Why? Because enough will never be enough.

Just how much firepower DO you need?

Victims of affluenza, who can afford it (and even more so those who can’t), will always strive to buy the best, but what happens when the upgrade obsession starts tickling the lunatic fringe?

When marketing ambition and manufacturing muscle meet in the automotive world, pointlessness usually ensues in the form of over-engineering or vehicles superfluous for purpose in their segment.

From Golf GTI-humbling vans (remember the Opel Zafira OPC, anyone?) and supercar-shaming sedans to sub-5-second SUVs, there comes a point where more is simply too much.

When a bakkie is no longer a ‘bakkie’

Surely the R1.2-million-plus, 292 kW/583 Nm and even #CarsAwards category award-winning Ford Ranger Raptor – replete with Baja-ready suspension and a thumping (not to mention sonorous) 3.0-litre twin-turbopetrol V6 – is the answer to a question that no builder or holidaying family has ever asked?

Yet, the Raptor is purchased in bulk for its image-bolstering ability. Even Ford can’t deny the turbodiesel V6-powered Ranger Wildtrak and Platinum will also satisfy most consumers’ needs… for less money.

Toyota, by contrast, is a serially sensible brand, even where its Gazoo Racing division is involved. Despite enjoying access to several large-capacity V8 engines from abroad and the Dakar Hiluxes being powered by a rip-snorting 5.0-litre Lexus V8 motor, Toyota SA Motors doesn’t believe in the extreme nature of the production-based mega-bakkie concept. That’s why the 165 kW GR-S is its most powerful Hilux variant.

At the opposite end of the scale, sits the Jeep Gladiator and few vehicles can match the brash American model’s ability to fill rear-view mirrors. While epitomising capitalism’s first rule: “because I can”, it is also a cautionary tale of the latter’s last and least favoured rule, which is “… doesn’t mean that I should.”

Still, it caters to buyers who want nothing less than a (rather thirsty) beast of a double cab with which they can live out their childhood fantasies. The 3.6 Rubicon is shameless, unapologetic and… a semi-finalist in the Ultimate Double Cab category of the 2024/25 Cars.co.za Awards – sponsored by Absa.

It’s no different for premium SUVs. In the early 2000s, the Volkswagen Group set about establishing turbodiesels as viable alternatives to hybrids to counter the Toyota Prius’ then-growing global acclaim.

As the TDI suffix gained popularity, so did its devastating potential on the racetrack, but a marketing connection between the 2 was required to hammer the point home.

With neither Volkswagen’s Touareg V10 TDI nor the Q7’s 4.2-litre variant deemed sexy or strong enough to make a suitably shout-worthy statement, the world’s first 12-cylinder turbodiesel engine was born…

The Audi Q7 V12 TDI sported 6.0 litres of swept capacity, 368 kW and 1000 Nm of torque and a laughable emissions figure of 298 g/CO₂ per km. With enough torque to reverse spin the earth on its axis, the 12-cylinder Q7 was a fitting over-the-top incarnation of VW’s plans to rule the world.

Of the 1200-ish examples produced, most were snapped up by Russian oligarchs, arms dealers, and Albanian human traffickers. Allegedly. Only a handful of examples made it to Mzansi, by the way.

Not to be outdone in the silliness stakes, from across the Atlantic came the Jeep Grand Cherokee SRT, powered by a 6.4-litre Hemispherical (Hemi) V8 (as well as the later supercharged Trackhawk); good for rocketing the 2.5-tonne leviathan from standstill to 100 kph in 4.5 seconds. It existed only because the regular V8-engined Cherokee was too tame and generated only “communist-appeasing” (low) profits.

Of course, no discussion about unrestrained needlessness is complete without referencing Germany’s most renowned premium marques. Are any of the 63 AMG models (2007-2017) that produced between 335 kW and 430 kW – too proletarian? Just get the V12 65 AMG in the CL-, S-, SL-, G-Class or Maybach S650, because no self-respecting tycoon could ever achieve self-fulfilment from a paltry V8 AMG model.

A special mention must go to the W212-gen Mercedes-Benz E63 AMG (2010-2016), which was initially powered by a 386 kW/630 Nm 6.2-litre V8 and, after the facelift, a twin-turbo 5.5-litre V8.

As the last-ever rear-wheel-drive E-Class AMG, it bowed out with 430 kW/800 Nm (with the AMG “S” Performance Package); nervous would-be owners in countries where roads tend to be perilously slippery implored begged ‘Benz to include a lifetime supply of tranquilisers in the list price, but alas, it never did.

BMW has not shied away from shouting “yes” to excess either. When the Munich-based firm launched the 272 kW/465 Nm BMW M2 as a series-production follow-up to the E82-gen BMW 1 Series M Coupe in 2016, it whipped its fans into a frenzy. But not too long thereafter, BMW turned up the wick on the M2; whether the brand did it to comply with emissions regulations or just because it could, we’ll never know.

By transplanting the F80/F82-gen M3/M4 twin-turbo 3.0-litre inline-6 into the small coupe, BMW made the M2 wilder, if not a bit feral. One can’t blame once-content M2 owners for feeling that that car, the M2 Competition was just a cash-grabbing exercise – until BMW dropped the single-turbo version to solely sell the Competition, which kind of diminishes its specialness when there’s only 1 variant to choose from.

I could lambaste Bimmer for wedging its twin-turbo 3.0-litre inline-6 and -4.4-litre V8 into every X model between the X2 and X7 – and having the nerve to label those hefty, high-riding and overpowered kerb-climbers “dynamic (cough) M cars” – but that would be stating the obvious. Besides, Alfa Romeo, Audi, Benz, Jaguar/Land Rover and Porsche have followed the same formula, and also with much success.

Instead, I want to highlight BMW’s spectacular overreach with one of its 2nd-gen 8 Series variants (not that the model didn’t struggle anyway, as its predecessor did in the late Eighties and Nineties).

Ignoring for a moment the M-monicker-murdering dynamic compromises and extra weight required to go roofless, the Bavarian company went full bunny boiler with the G14-gen (2018–2022) M8 Competition Convertible, a 460 kW/750 N.m hair dryer that was capable of blasting from 0 to 100 kph in 3 seconds. I mean, as if the standard 441 kW M8 Convertible wasn’t an absurd proposition to start with already…

Not even the gateway vehicle to the addiction of speed – the hot hatch – was spared over the years. Never before (or since) did the world see anything as deranged as the mid-engined, rear-driven Renault Clio V6, sporting a wheelbase no longer than an office desk is wide and exactly zero traction or stability interventions. If you want to see what I mean, watch Ciro De Siena’s video review of that car.

All was not lost, though. As proof, the lighter and faster front-wheel-drive VW Scirocco R (188 kW) was a smarter, suaver representation of its all-wheel drive Golf R sibling. On the other hand, was an R variant all that necessary when a nearly-as-capable 2.0 TSI (in either 155 kW or 162 kW guise) was also on hand?

And why would you buy a R1-million-plus Mini Countryman JCW, now with mandatory all-wheel-drive, a peak output of 233 kW and a footprint as big as a Golf’s, when a 160 kW S version costs R200k less?

Models that were destined to fade quickly

We’ll wrap up with ostensibly the least-senseless batch of this batty bunch. At launch in 2011, the Suzuki Kizashi, especially in 138 kW/230 Nm, 2.4-litre form, targeted buyers who would otherwise purchase a Toyota Camry, Hyundai Sonata, Honda Accord or Mazda6. Yep, it predates the apogee of the SUV craze.

Sedans are all but dead today, but even back then, the Kizashi made little sense. It was well-specced and decently powerful – but in a new-vehicle market where brand snobbery is rife (and Mzansi is not that much worse than overseas markets) few gave any thought to choosing a Suzuki over a BMW 3 Series.

Also from Japan came the Nissan Murano and Subaru Tribeca; both product-planning blunders were large-capacity, naturally aspirated, 7-seat soft-roaders (as was the now-thankfully-forgotten Cadillac SRX), but they were so thirsty they had to be sold with towbars to drag along trailers loaded with extra jerrycans. Luxurious, but ungainly, useless off-road and shockingly mediocre. Today, they’re unsellable.

*Range Rover produced a 1st-gen Evoque convertible (2017–18), but has (perhaps wisely) chosen against doing it again.*

Freakish cars are markers of motoring culture

Regardless of our social status or belief systems, humans are wired to always want what they cannot have. Freakish or Frankensteinian cars like these allow a brief peek beyond the edge of sanity to the (usually) monied minority that is fuelled by owning what others can merely dream of, because, lest anyone ever forgets – they’re worth it.

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