# data.attributes.title
Lexus LM - long-term review - Report No:3

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No one cares what the chauffeur thinks. We asked the chauffeur anyhow

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Lexus LM - long-term review - Report No:3 | Top Gear

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
No one cares what the chauffeur thinks. We asked the chauffeur anyhow

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
Lexus LM - long-term review - Report No:3

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
No one cares what the chauffeur thinks. We asked the chauffeur anyhow

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
Lexus LM - long-term review - Report No:3

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
No one cares what the chauffeur thinks. We asked the chauffeur anyhow

# data.attributes.body.value
Getting hung up on whether the Lexus LM is fun to drive is like… worrying if your bath mat minds getting wet. A category error. This is a minivan that’s all about the experience of those in the back. The opinion of the minion holding the steering wheel is very much secondary.

But since I am that minion holding the steering wheel, let’s tackle the question: how is the LM to drive? And the answer to that question rather depends whether you’re assessing it by the standards of (a) minivans or (b) £120,000 limousines.

Because by van standards (vandards?) the LM is indeed a classy specimen. Its profile might suggest panel-van underpinnings, but it’s actually based on the same modular architecture as the Lexus NX and RX (and more closely the Toyota Alphard).

So long as you don’t approach it with any sporting pretensions (chauffeurs! Know your limits!) it does indeed feel more car than van to drive. A big, tall car, admittedly, but the steering and brakes are smartly calibrated, the suspension absorbing grizzled tarmac with far more sophistication than anything else I’ve driven of this sheer volume.

Big boxy people-movers can sometimes feel a bit hollow and boomy, but the LM exudes utter robustness. Lexus has added additional bracing and upgraded the dampers (and presumably wedged a metric ton of sound insulation anywhere it’ll fit), lending the LM an air of very un-van-like solidity on the move.

So compared to anything van-shaped – or indeed MPV-shaped – the big Lexus shines. But compared to the proper bona fide limos in the same price bracket – 7 Series, S-Class, a very second-hand Rolls Phantom – it falls just a fraction short in the road-manners department.

Wobbliest link? The powertrain. The LM350h uses a 2.5-litre four-pot along with two electric motors for a (non-plug-in) hybrid set-up that generates a total of 247bhp. Lexus refers to the transmission as an eCVT. It’s not a CVT at all, instead a fixed gearset with ICE and electric motors sharing power to allow engine speed to float free of the wheels. I think.

So long as you’re Tokyo-chauffeur gentle on the throttle, and never have to transport anything weighty up a steep hill, it’s an arrangement that works fine, wafting away serenely in the background with very little evidence it’s even turned on.

But depress your right foot into the deep, luxurious carpet, and that serenity dissolves, the LM emitting a mournful moo broadly unrelated to any additional accelerative force. It’s not so egregious as some old CVTs (*cough* Nissan Xtronic *cough*) but it’s not as effortless or sophisticated as might be expected from your £120k mogul-mobile.

That said, word from my miniature moguls in the rear seats is that, cocooned in soundproofed luxury back in business class, you can’t hear any of what the LM’s less-than-whispery powertrain is doing up front. For the LM’s likely audience, that’s probably all that matters.

# data.attributes.body.processed
Getting hung up on whether the Lexus LM is fun to drive is like… worrying if your bath mat minds getting wet. A category error. This is a minivan that’s all about the experience of those in the back. The opinion of the minion holding the steering wheel is very much secondary.

But since I am that minion holding the steering wheel, let’s tackle the question: how is the LM to drive? And the answer to that question rather depends whether you’re assessing it by the standards of (a) minivans or (b) £120,000 limousines.

Because by van standards (vandards?) the LM is indeed a classy specimen. Its profile might suggest panel-van underpinnings, but it’s actually based on the same modular architecture as the Lexus NX and RX (and more closely the Toyota Alphard).

So long as you don’t approach it with any sporting pretensions (chauffeurs! Know your limits!) it does indeed feel more car than van to drive. A big, tall car, admittedly, but the steering and brakes are smartly calibrated, the suspension absorbing grizzled tarmac with far more sophistication than anything else I’ve driven of this sheer volume.

Big boxy people-movers can sometimes feel a bit hollow and boomy, but the LM exudes utter robustness. Lexus has added additional bracing and upgraded the dampers (and presumably wedged a metric ton of sound insulation anywhere it’ll fit), lending the LM an air of very un-van-like solidity on the move.

So compared to anything van-shaped – or indeed MPV-shaped – the big Lexus shines. But compared to the proper bona fide limos in the same price bracket – 7 Series, S-Class, a very second-hand Rolls Phantom – it falls just a fraction short in the road-manners department.

Wobbliest link? The powertrain. The LM350h uses a 2.5-litre four-pot along with two electric motors for a (non-plug-in) hybrid set-up that generates a total of 247bhp. Lexus refers to the transmission as an eCVT. It’s not a CVT at all, instead a fixed gearset with ICE and electric motors sharing power to allow engine speed to float free of the wheels. I think.

So long as you’re Tokyo-chauffeur gentle on the throttle, and never have to transport anything weighty up a steep hill, it’s an arrangement that works fine, wafting away serenely in the background with very little evidence it’s even turned on.

But depress your right foot into the deep, luxurious carpet, and that serenity dissolves, the LM emitting a mournful moo broadly unrelated to any additional accelerative force. It’s not so egregious as some old CVTs (*cough* Nissan Xtronic *cough*) but it’s not as effortless or sophisticated as might be expected from your £120k mogul-mobile.

That said, word from my miniature moguls in the rear seats is that, cocooned in soundproofed luxury back in business class, you can’t hear any of what the LM’s less-than-whispery powertrain is doing up front. For the LM’s likely audience, that’s probably all that matters.