The Gestalt Convertible
Porsche's new Boxster may not soar, but neither does it bore
Porsche's a company that's changed very much very quickly; once
the best-selling sports car brand in the world, it went through some
really tough times in the early nineties and has struggled to reach
its former position&emdash;and it's not there yet. But if its sales
keep climbing like they've done over the last couple of years, it
won't be long until they're back where they once were; and it will be
cars like the Boxster that propel them there.
Call it whatever you want&emdash;Porsche's intense desire to build
cars that not only go fast but are interesting, exciting, and, most
of all, fun is a complete turnaround from their almost singleminded
pursuit of absolute performance at any cost that they exhibited in
the bad old days. Gone forever are the 911 turbos with their
knife-in-the-back handling and impenetrable ergonomics and impossibly
expensive pricetags; here are the days of Porsches that are
realistic, easy-to-drive, and affordable. It's the car industry's
equivalent of Gestalt psychology; today's Porsches are a lot more
than the sum of their less-expensive mechanical parts.
This thinking is everywhere in the Boxster, even in the name.
Boxer, of course, refers to the engine configuration, a 2.5-liter
flat-6 developing a robust if not world-beating 204 bhp. The "ster"
comes from roadster, or speedster, depending on who you ask&emdash;in
any case, a two-seater convertible with a low, sleek windshield and
top. But "Boxster" says so much more than either word by itself. Not
only does it sound strong and muscular like a boxer ought to, and not
only does it evoke memories of the old Porsche speedsters, but it
also sounds almost youthfully rebellious, inviting, and fun.
The youthful part is the one Porsche wants you to remember; at
$55,000, this is one of the cheapest Porsches ever, and the company
is hoping to attract a whole new generation of owners. Owners who are
younger, and increasingly, female.
Taking a walk around the Boxster is another exercise in Gestalt.
None of the pieces that make up the car are particularly pleasing by
themselves, but the way they fit together is almost flawless, and
certainly a lot better than what you're seeing in the pictures. (See
one on the road if you don't know what I mean.)
The four air intakes alone are particularly incongruous, and
certainly a lot less attractive than those seen on the Boxster
concept that was unveiled to so much praise at the 1993 Detroit auto
show. For practical reasons involving debris kicked up from the
ground, the Boxster's designers had to move the beautiful low-slung
side ducts up to the middle of the body, cutting a hole right in the
side of the quarter panel. The single intake flanked by two
bronze-trimmed pieces was replaced by two gaping body color holes in
the front fascia, the better to feed the brakes and the better for
the bottom line. A clumsy CHMSL was cut into the smoothly curved
trunk, making it look like somebody'd slammed an ax into it sideways.
The trunk is interrupted again by two cuts made for the pop-up rear
spoiler, a block that motors up at 100 klicks, making the car look
like it has a gigantic grab handle attached to the back. Compare the
Boxster's spoiler to the elegant design of the 911's, which becomes
part of the engine cover when retracted, and which mimics the turbo
when up. There's none of the same aesthetic quality with the Boxster.
Strange thing is, those pieces are tied together so well, with
such attention to detail, that the Boxster becomes almost
beautiful.The front end is tied to the rest of the car with a pair of
turn signals that wrap themselves into the wheelwells, lighting up
the tires when they flash. The cover over the top stylishly covers
only half of it, letting the fabric from the top become part of the
exterior design instead of trying to hide it. And let's not forget
that "stinger" exhaust pipe, the chromed oval that perfectly bisects
the seam on the lower half of the rear bumper. All of this, of
course, tied together with Porsche's typical attention to
detail&emdash;the panel alignment is perfect, and the small fabric
flap that folds out of the fuel-filler cap is ingenious.
Same story for the interior, where the parts are pedestrian and
sometimes of questionable quality. The ventilation controls are
straight off an Audi A4, with a clumsy plastic panel overlaying it
with Porsche's own, shiny black, controls&emdash;a surprise from the
company that first introduced us to the low-glare, matte-black
plastic that we now associate with high quality. The ignition key
goes in on the wrong side of the steering column, and the instruments
are backlit in an almost Pontiac-like red; the seat controls are
typically Porsche, in a hard-to-reach place down low on the side
bolster.
More cool details that make up for it here too. The red
backlighting may be disturbingly GM-like, but nobody at GM would have
thought to cut a hole in the top of the panel to let natural light in
around the instruments, surrounding them in a sort of soft halo. The
instruments themselves are layered three-dimensionally and the text
on their faces is set in the same delightfully fun script that adorns
the rear of the car. The colors in my tester were perfectly matched
shades of gray and purple, and the leather swathed across the seats,
steering wheel and gearshift knob, felt expensive, pampering, but
also strong. The crowning touch? A rearview mirror shaped like an
upside-down trapezoid with bent-in sides whose sightline fits
perfectly between the twin humps of the rollbars.
Start up the Boxster&emdash;oops, other side&emdash;and take it
out on the road, and suddenly all aesthetic considerations dissolve
into a blur behind you. While it may not go like stink (a Camaro
costing $20,000 less would easily trounce it at a stoplight,) the
Boxster accelerates strongly, ripping through the gears with a
throaty, full-bodied roar. Hold first gear long enough and you're at
80; the top speed with the top up is close to 250 km/h, and 200 with
the top down is almost easy.
The 204-bhp flat-six, though, just wasn't strong enough to break
loose the 40-series Michelin Pilots strapped to the rear axle.
Porsche claims a zero-to-100 time of around 7 seconds, which sounded
right by the seat of my pants; people who desire more straight-line
performance might want to wait for the rumored 250-bhp version.
Despite its lack of bottom-end torque, this remains a delightful
engine; keep it between 4000 and 6000 rpm, and it sings, rocketing
you from corner to corner with almost alarming efficiency. Speaking
of efficiency, the 2.5 posts a remarkable 37-mpg highway rating with
the manual transmission. Drive it like it was meant to be driven,
though, and count on about half that number; you'll find yourself
taking every stretch of road at much higher speeds and in a lower
gear. The engine is as unflappable as Jeeves when driven hard;
there's no thrashy sound, no undue vibration, to ruin the experience.
Admittedly, that the Boxster's engine was unable to embarrass its
chassis may be more of a compliment towards the underpinnings rather
than a strike against the engine. The steering is perfectly weighted,
the brakes stop the car heroically time after time, the suspension
never breaks loose, the tires never complain. You can throw the
Boxster through corners at rates of speed that would send you into
the weeds in other, less capable cars; suddenly, diving through a
curve at twice the posted limit seems almost routine.
You-screw-up-you-die curves that would have you hanging on for dear
life in other cars are dispatched with equal, unflappable, alacrity.
All of which goes to prove that gestalt's present here
too&emdash;have old-fashioned Macpherson struts ever worked this well
in such an advanced setting?
What's perhaps most impressive about this car's chassis is how
stable it is. The handling is neutral, even right at the edge of
adhesion; breakaway is gradual and there's always plenty of warning.
The grip from the optional seventeen-inchers is prodigious&emdash;it
doesn't feel like you're cornering on rails, it feels like the car's
just stuck to the ground. While the Boxster naturally understeers,
gassing it through a turn will step the tail out smoothly; modulating
the oversteer is easier than in any car I've ever driven.
Though its weight might tell you otherwise, the Boxster is just a
shade less tossable than a Mazda Miata, and it doesn't complain
nearly as much. It's light on its feet, and&emdash;unlike the
Miata&emdash;body roll is minimal. There's no lag between the push of
the pedal and the rush that ensues, and it's as if Porsche somehow
found a way to override Newton's first law, the car changes direction
so quickly.
It should come as no surprise, then, that the Boxster does some
crazy things to your everyday driving habits. You drive at 100 in
third gear, just to hear the engine behind you, fuel economy be
damned. You brake hard for yellow lights just so you can run it up
through the gears from a standing stop. You try and find the most
complicated route home so that you can have longer to play.
Tap-dancing through traffic becomes a guilty pleasure, and is as
simple as pointing the wheels, dropping down a gear, and squeezing
the gas. Passing the tethered goats crawling down on-ramps becomes
morally acceptable; they hate you for driving this car anyway, why
not just confirm their feelings?
The downside of driving the Boxster? You're suddenly an instant
celebrity. People come up behind you, flashing their lights. Still
others pull up beside and stick until you make a turn. Kids in their
souped-up Civics and Integras want to do nothing but race. You're
accosted in parking lots, on the street, even in your driveway. Leave
the top open when you park and, guaranteed, there'll be somebody with
their head bent over inside when you get back.
The car's visibility is unlikely to diminish in the coming months,
either. Boxsters are sold through to the end of the model year, and a
significant portion of next year's stock is already accounted for.
Them's the breaks in this segment.
Logic tells you that the Boxster is a terrible buy, cheap though
it may be for a Porsche. Its straight-line performance is matched,
even beaten, by cars at half the price. The funhouse-ride handling
can be had in a Miata for even less than that. Its quick folding top
is easily eclipsed by the Mercedes SLK's metal marvel, and if you're
looking for gawk factor, a heavily-optioned screaming-chicken
Firebird will do the job.
Logic, though, is not what the Boxster is about. It's an illogical
car, a mishmash of parts that, both mechanically
and&emdash;especially&emdash;stylistically, that really ought not
work as well as they do. A set of parts that, forget logic, mesh
together perfectly, as if they're manipulated by little
Porsche-uniform-clad gnomes in the bodywork. It&emdash;the styling,
the engine, the suspension, the cockpit&emdash;is balanced to the
point of perfection; everything, every odd little piece, works
together to create a powerful, exciting, but always harmonious,
whole. The Boxster really is far more than the sum of its parts; it's
the most fun you can have in a car this year, perhaps at any price.