Mercedes G-Class vs Range Rover

Introducing the new G-Wagen. Only it’s not – either new, or
called the G-Wagen. It’s now the G-Class, and although this is the third-gen
W463 model, it’s hardly in the first flush of youth. Mercedes’s iconic
off-roader first arrived in 1979, and this version came along 10 years later.
So it’s now 22 years old. But that doesn’t seem to have put Merc off, because
in the same way you crate up a zoo rhino and release it back into the
Serengeti, it’s reintroducing the G to the UK. Just at the right time and right
price to go head-to-head with the latest Range Rover. How thoughtful.

Words: Oliver Marriage
Photos: James Lipman

This feature was originally published in the May issue of Top Gear magazine

This thing has earned its stripes and looks damn cool
rumbling around the urban jungle. So these two are a class apart, and if you’re
not convinced about that, try this easy test: say ‘SUV’ while looking at either
of them. See? Feel how incongruous the term seems? It doesn’t fit. But enough
of labels - for the purposes of this test, we’ll ignore what they stand for and
concentrate on what they do.

The trouble is that behind these fripperies, the
Geländewagen still has the look and feel of a proper utilitarian vehicle. It’s
right there in the slabby trim and square-edged plastics, the lack of ergonomic
friendliness, the way the doors have to be hurled shut, the roof guttering and
dado rails round the flanks, and the careless width of the panel gaps. The
overall suggestion is that passenger satisfaction and comfort weren’t primary
 objectives.

Luxury
is a term that only applies to the Range Rover’s cabin here. Everything is bang
up-to-date; there’s harmonious use of the best materials, design and
technology; and the result is a truly superb place to spend time. It’s also far
more spacious - not so much for luggage, as both have giant boots - but after
the G-Class’s narrow rear doors and knees-up seating position, the Range
Rover’s Bentley-esque rear compartment provides its occupants a chance to
stretch out and relax.

Oddly, you get this outsize impression from the driving
position. In the Range Rover, you’re greeted by a handsome, expansive dashboard
and wide centre console, your hands gripping a gargantuan steering wheel. It
all makes you feel a bit on the miniature side. Given what we were saying about
the design and ergonomics earlier, expectations are lower on entering the
G-Class, but you find yourself getting comfortable quickly and easily, legs
stretched out into the footwell, smaller-diameter steering wheel nicely placed.

However, surviving cities is rarely about darting down
alleyways, and we’re not about to pretend that a G-Class can follow in the
footsteps of a G-Wiz. No, in urban areas, it’s all about isolating yourself
from the hubbub outside - and the height and stature of these two help no end
with that.

Bigger it may be, but the Range Rover is the easier car to
pilot. Just twist the gearknob to D, and you won’t be aware of another
gearchange for the duration of your journey - the eight-speed ZF has to be the
world’s best auto, and it’s matched in excellence by the latest 4.4-litre TDV8
engine. In fact, so well do they work together, it’s hard to tell where one
ends and the other begins - the transfer of torque is effortless, and it pulls
away immaculately from standstill. And you can’t ignore the air suspension’s
beautifully calm ride. Well, you can, because there’s nothing distracting about
 it.

The G is thrashier and busier; gas it, and you hear a gusty
roar from somewhere over your left shoulder that blends with wind noise coming
off the A-pillars and reminds you that the exhaust exits under the left sill.
But the noise is far less of a distraction than the ride. Around town, the G
felt firm, but beyond city limits, it’s properly hard. You can see why this is
- Merc has sought to improve body control by fitting stronger springs to limit
roll and improve cornering ability. They work alright, but the trade-off is
that the G hops and skips where the Land Rover flows. OK, so the two-and-a-half
tonne Rangey doesn’t like tight roads and quick direction changes, but it
barrels round sweepers majestically, engine purring and powering through.

Part of this difference is down to the way the two cars are
constructed. The British machine has a bespoke integrated chassis design that
melds the strength of a traditional ladder frame with the refinement of a
monocoque construction - which also explains why it weighs so much. The German
uses the traditional ladder frame design with the body mounted separately on
top. This makes it very tough (look underneath, and it’s like a construction
site - all RSJs and scaffolding), but this design has fallen out of favour for
road cars, due to its susceptibility to torsional flex.

Both are incredible off-road (it’s doubtful we actually
needed to fiddle with the 4WD set-up at all), but have very, very different
mannerisms. The Rangey flows and glides over terrain - thick parallel logs felt
no bigger than twigs, while ruts, slopes, craters, boulders, wading pools and
everything else that wasn’t tarmac was imperiously dealt with. Everything
except mud. And that was purely down to the tyres, as the RR’s Pirelli Scorpion
Zeros had less bite and traction than its rival’s Dunlop Winter Sports.

The inevitable consequence is that you soon get to feel
rather cocksure in the Range Rover, and it’s about then, when you’re axle-deep
in prehistoric scenery, that realisation dawns. Realisation of how you’re
treating this £80,000 off-roader, realisation that although it can perform
incredible feats, it also feels rather precious, too special to treat like
 this.

So for off-road amusement, the G-Class has it, but it’s too
one-dimensional, and simply doesn’t have the breadth of ability that the Range
offers. That’s not to say it’s bad, because it isn’t - in fact, aside from the
ride and sleepy steering, the ageing 4x4 (the longest-serving passenger car in
Merc’s history, incidentally) is better than we expected - provided your
expectations, like ours, were that the G-Class is closer in ethos and execution
to a Defender than a Range Rover. It’s about midway, but I honestly think that
if Mercedes can persuade people to drive one, they’ll pick up more sales than
they expect. It’s one of those cars that, if assessed objectively, is deeply
flawed and bobs uneasily in the Range Rover’s wake, and yet you find yourself
warming to its infectious nature. It’s the real deal, a genuine
scenery-smashing tough nut clad in a thin sheen of civility. Still loses this
test, though.