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Chris Harris on... the BMW M2, and criticising cars

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Chris Harris on... the BMW M2, and criticising cars | Top Gear

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It’s time we stopped faulting cars for what they’re not and appreciating them for what they are, says Chris

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Chris Harris on... the BMW M2, and criticising cars

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It’s time we stopped faulting cars for what they’re not and appreciating them for what they are, says Chris

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It’s time we stopped faulting cars for what they’re not and appreciating them for what they are, says Chris

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Chris Harris on... the BMW M2, and criticising cars

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Chris Harris on... the BMW M2, and criticising cars

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Chris Harris on... the BMW M2, and criticising cars

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It’s time we stopped faulting cars for what they’re not and appreciating them for what they are, says Chris

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Criticism of the BMW M2 has been widespread and ferocious. When the first photographs were leaked online everyone pointed at their screens and yelled “It looks bloody dreadful and it weighs as much as Saturn”. I was one of them. On paper, the M2 is a dud – a car that has lost sight of its original intentions and sold its soul. In reality, it’s brilliant and I much prefer it to my old M2.

But that’s not the reason we’re here. We’re here today so I can indulge in some therapy. Because I’m not sure I want to review cars any more. It has occurred to me during my many miles in the M2 that the last thing anyone needs is a ‘review’ of its stumpy little arse. The relationship between car and reviewer and owner is now so convoluted I’m not sure I want to try and untangle it.

If the concept of a near 1,700kg M2 appals you to the point of a physical reaction, me telling you that it just doesn’t feel that heavy won’t alter your feeling towards it. And I won’t even begin to explain how I’ve somehow managed to shift from thinking it looked tragic at first, to now full of admiration for BMW’s bravery in making it look like Mike Tyson’s chin. Think of it as BMW’s Alfa SZ moment – Il Mostro from Germany. Das Monster.

You won’t care about the fact the gearchange and clutch are a big improvement over the old car, that the cabin is excellent and that, with its fancy carbon sports seats, BMW is now the undisputed king of bottom nurturing in the two-seater compact sports arena. Actually, you’ll object to the word compact being used in the context of something this big – but again, not something I feel qualified to alter.

You see we’ve reached a point, as the roads slowly fill with electric vehicles, where I’m just not going to allow myself to criticise a carmaker that is selling a RWD, 454bhp coupe with a manual gearbox. I have this nagging feeling that if I did, five years from now when the only BMW I could buy was a hybrid and changed gear itself, I might have a moment of retrospective shame.

These are the last days of an empire that has existed for a century. An epoch that gave us machinery that needed skills to be driven, and in doing so reciprocated by making us smile. That will soon change into something newer and more automated. I think anyone deep into middle age like me spends a lot of time reflecting on whether we understood the significance of the things we experienced in our younger years. I was paid to criticise motor cars to a degree that at the time made me feel proud to go about my task. But some of that now feels meanspirited. Yes, the Alfa 156 GTA was mostly terrible – but the world needs bad Italian cars fitted with magnificent engines.

I can’t even begin to list the cars I now need to apologise to, and of course I know that a collective apology from the pantheon of motoring journalism, delivered to the internal combustion engined motor car, isn’t, and wasn’t ever, going to save it from becoming the focus of so much hatred.

But I will say this – the pedals are just too offset in the context of the nutcracker bucket seat. There is the potential for testicular numbness over long periods. And, no, I don’t view that as indiscriminate nastiness – it’s a public health announcement.

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Criticism of the BMW M2 has been widespread and ferocious. When the first photographs were leaked online everyone pointed at their screens and yelled “It looks bloody dreadful and it weighs as much as Saturn”. I was one of them. On paper, the M2 is a dud – a car that has lost sight of its original intentions and sold its soul. In reality, it’s brilliant and I much prefer it to my old M2.

But that’s not the reason we’re here. We’re here today so I can indulge in some therapy. Because I’m not sure I want to review cars any more. It has occurred to me during my many miles in the M2 that the last thing anyone needs is a ‘review’ of its stumpy little arse. The relationship between car and reviewer and owner is now so convoluted I’m not sure I want to try and untangle it.

If the concept of a near 1,700kg M2 appals you to the point of a physical reaction, me telling you that it just doesn’t feel that heavy won’t alter your feeling towards it. And I won’t even begin to explain how I’ve somehow managed to shift from thinking it looked tragic at first, to now full of admiration for BMW’s bravery in making it look like Mike Tyson’s chin. Think of it as BMW’s Alfa SZ moment – Il Mostro from Germany. Das Monster.

You won’t care about the fact the gearchange and clutch are a big improvement over the old car, that the cabin is excellent and that, with its fancy carbon sports seats, BMW is now the undisputed king of bottom nurturing in the two-seater compact sports arena. Actually, you’ll object to the word compact being used in the context of something this big – but again, not something I feel qualified to alter.

You see we’ve reached a point, as the roads slowly fill with electric vehicles, where I’m just not going to allow myself to criticise a carmaker that is selling a RWD, 454bhp coupe with a manual gearbox. I have this nagging feeling that if I did, five years from now when the only BMW I could buy was a hybrid and changed gear itself, I might have a moment of retrospective shame.

These are the last days of an empire that has existed for a century. An epoch that gave us machinery that needed skills to be driven, and in doing so reciprocated by making us smile. That will soon change into something newer and more automated. I think anyone deep into middle age like me spends a lot of time reflecting on whether we understood the significance of the things we experienced in our younger years. I was paid to criticise motor cars to a degree that at the time made me feel proud to go about my task. But some of that now feels meanspirited. Yes, the Alfa 156 GTA was mostly terrible – but the world needs bad Italian cars fitted with magnificent engines.

I can’t even begin to list the cars I now need to apologise to, and of course I know that a collective apology from the pantheon of motoring journalism, delivered to the internal combustion engined motor car, isn’t, and wasn’t ever, going to save it from becoming the focus of so much hatred.

But I will say this – the pedals are just too offset in the context of the nutcracker bucket seat. There is the potential for testicular numbness over long periods. And, no, I don’t view that as indiscriminate nastiness – it’s a public health announcement.

# data.attributes.field_standfirst
It’s time we stopped faulting cars for what they’re not and appreciating them for what they are, says Chris