BMW Canada will soon try to convince you that the allure of its new Mini Coupe (the fifth body style for the brand since its rebirth in 2001) is all its own, that its appeal is distinct from other Minis and that its “personality” is unique.
The company will dress it up in some sort of playful message complete with some cutesy small-versus-large metaphors, but the basic message will be how this latest Mini, a slashed and chopped coupe, is desirable because it is different from all Minis that have come before.
Don’t listen to a word of it.
The real reason — beyond the styling — that you’ll want a Mini Coupe is precisely because underneath that new roofline it embodies all the same old Mini attributes that have made it the one trendy car of the last decade to maintain its long-term appeal. Essentially the same body structure is used (more on that in a minute), the same three 121-, 181- and 208-horsepower versions of the 1.6-litre four, the same six-speed manual and automatic transmissions and the same combination of MacPherson strut front and multi-link rear independent suspensions. The end result — for those who haven’t read a Mini test lately or at least one of my Mini road tests — encompasses a long list of attributes such as driving like a much larger car while sipping fuel like a smaller one.
As for the first part of the equation, it amazes me still that I am still amazed at how proficient the Mini is at dispelling its diminutive size. At 140 kilometres an hour, the Mini is as stable as a Mercedes (BMW, of course, would prefer I say “as a BMW” but I like yanking its chain), the steering wheel calm and directional, control maintained as easily as a large luxury sedan. No small car eats up kilometres as easily as a Mini Cooper S, its turbo engine spinning slowly (and calmly) and its on-centre feeling letting you relax behind the wheel like no other small car.
Then a tight curve shows up and the Mini dives for the apex like a go-kart. There are those who will complain that the Mini, even Cooper S versions, is a little too softly suspended for truly iconic sports car status, but I think the balance between steering feel, roll mitigation and suspension compliance is one of the best in the business. The one exception to this is that the Coupe crashed hard over some of the potholes that have — defying logic and what I thought I knew about civil engineering — somehow got worse over the past year. The Coupe, it seems, is based on the Cabriolet and, despite the addition of the “helmet roof” and copious amounts of lower body stiffening (shared with the Cabrio), the entire superstructure is still not quite as stiff as the hatchback. As I mentioned, the only time you notice it is over particularly recessed manhole covers and the like, but there seems to be quite a few of those in Toronto these days.
The Mini’s motor meanwhile — a tiny little thing — again defies its diminutive size thanks to the Borg-Warner turbocharger plunked in its exhaust tract. Indeed, for anyone for whom Mini ownership is more than just cute styling and a trendy interior, my recommendation is always to opt for the Cooper S. Not only is it faster, but it’s eminently more civilized, hardly ever, except when playing silly buggers, needing much more than 4,000 rpm to keep up with, or move ahead of, traffic. Consequently, it feels smooth and, despite the fact that it scoots to 100 kilometres an hour in less than seven seconds, it sips but 5.6 litres of fuel per 100 klicks on the highway.
Inside, the Coupe is standard Mini fare. That means large, round dials (the tachometer perched atop the steering column), black leatherette seating the two rows — one below on the centre dashboard, the other atop the roofliner — of oh-so-retro chromed toggle switches, each with its equally evocative looping protective gate. Mini interior styling has changed little in the decade since its rebirth so it’s managed to refine the process with fit and finish equal to BMW’s. First-time passengers will be left wondering where the window button went (they’re the outboard toggles in the lower row) and what the darned switch with the roof-raising icon is for (it actually actuates the Porsche-like retractable rear spoiler).
Of course, the big news is that there are no rear seats in the Coupe, the first Mini not offering at least vestigial rear perches. The front seats, meanwhile, look like they’ve been lifted directly from the Cabriolet model. In the rear, there’s what BMW is calling a “high-opening tailgate,” although it looks like a plain old hatch to me. That said, there is, as one would suspect, a little more trunk room or at least a more conveniently packaged cargo area. This is no full-sized SUV — or even a Countryman for that matter — but it’s a darn sight roomier back there than the computer case the Convertible calls a trunk.
As for pricing, the Coupe falls between the hatchback and Convertible in all trims. The Cooper S version of the Coupe that I tested starts at $31,150 compared with $28,950 for the similarly turbocharged hatch and $33,950 Mini wants for a Cooper S Convertible. The base Coupe starts at $25,950 while the top-of-the-line JCW version goes for $38,400.
As for styling, I’ll leave that in the eye of the beholder, other than to say that the Coupe got more than its fair share of admiring stares. I think Mini Canada may try to position the Coupe as the sportiest and, therefore, most “male-oriented” of its lineup. But like every other Mini I’ve tested, the Coupe defies stereotypes and pigeonholing, attracting envious glances from Canadians from every walk of life, gender (or gender-bending) and age. In the end, it’s just a Mini with a sportier roofline and that’s its best attribute.
dbooth@nationalpost.com
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