Jack Kennedy lived in the White House and Alan Shepard was preparing to become America’s first man in space when England rolled out a missile of its own, a land-bound two-door wearing a monocoque so fetching, no less an authority than Enzo Ferrari dubbed it the most beautiful car he’d ever seen.
Jaguar called it the E-Type. And from that launch day in 1961 through the fourteen years of production that followed, the E-Type not only defined the Jaguar brand -- sexy, aristocratic, sporty, suave -- it set a standard for elegance and style that perhaps no other automobile before or since has matched.Then Jaguar dropped the sexy ball. Like a film star who trades the gym and the tofu for the La-Z-Boy and the Big Macs, Jaguar almost callously abandoned its well-earned place in the style spotlight. The 1975 XJ-S was a dubious E-Type follow-up, the E’s cigar-like purity stomped on by flying buttresses. By 1986 the lithe XJ sedan had ballooned into the blocky XJ40. Outright disasters like the “baby” X-Type followed.
Of late Jaguar has struggled back into shape. The XJ sedan has returned to fashionable form, and the two-door XK delivers a thoroughly rewarding sports/GT experience. But it’s Jaguar’s newest model, the XF four-door, that most recalls the flair and sex appeal of Jag’s E-Type era.We’ve now got a new, top-level XF Supercharged in our long-term test fleet; I’m saddled with the not-so-difficult chore of official chaperone. And now that I’ve rolled a good chunk of miles under its wheels, I’m even more taken by the new Jag than I was after a preview drive at the car’s launch. You want some of that old-time romance and sex appeal in your driving? The XF beckons.
What stands out most about this new Jaguar? It’s true to itself, plays it own game. Jaguar hasn’t tried to emulate BMW or Mercedes-Benz or Audi. Ian Callum’s design looks fresh, its grille a nod to the ’68 XJ but its lines otherwise as modern and distinctive as anything in its class. The XF cockpit doesn’t sport a clone of iDrive or COMAND or MMI, either; Jaguar uses a simple touchscreen.
Would BMW or Mercedes build a car with a heartbeat? Not likely. The XF’s red starter button flickers to life -- seemingly beating -- when you enter; press it, and the hidden dashboard vents twirl open as the circular transmission selector rises up from center console. It’s intentionally showy, perhaps an unnecessary drum roll of pizzazz, but Jaguar pulls it off. Right away, the XF feels different. Special.
The powertrain lives up to the flourish of the opening act. The base car boasts a none-too-shabby 300 horsepower from its naturally aspirated, DOHC 4.2-liter V-8, but in blown and intercooled form the 4.2 gushes with the excess we do so adore. Output climbs to 420 giddy ponies, enough to blast the XF to 60 mph in well under five seconds. (Not that anyone buying a $63,000 automobile would care, but EPA city/highway is a very decent 15/23 mpg.) The V-8 mates to the brilliant ZF six-speed automatic that also serves in other Jags, Astons, and Land Rovers; rotate the gear selector into Sport mode and you’ve got full manual shifts on tap via tidy paddle tabs behind the steering wheel.
Jaguar rightfully earned a reputation long ago for chassis finesse, and the XF draws deep from the well of corporate history. Chief engineer Mike Cross has fashioned a handling marvel, the XF alive with steering feel, tire grip, and chassis balance. Squeeze on the throttle mid-corner and the XF gooses its rear-end to the outside as the front tires bite harder to the inside. Fourteen-inch front binders inside the 20-inch alloys let you carry speed deep into the braking zone. A rigid composite undertray helps the chassis shrug off cornering stresses.
Yes, your passengers were suckered aboard by the lure of all that luscious leather, aluminum, and wood (not to mention, a 440-watt Bowers & Wilkins audio system that has them attempting to stand while applauding), but now they’re furiously fumbling for the grab handles while their tea and crumpets do a Shake ‘n Bake inside the cabin. A stripped-bare sports car couldn’t make much better time on a mountain road than this otherwise pampering XF Supercharged.
That’s the thing: The XF Supercharged runs like hell when you’re in the mood, and when you’re not it’s all elegance and serve-you-well. The standard CATS adaptive suspension tightens up to pull off those extraordinary moves in the squigglies but creams off the impacts at cruise. Ventilated, heated and cooled front seats are standard. Your iPod syncs up fully to the audio system via a standard audio interface. At night the cabin becomes a nightclub, pumping tunes from the B&W woofers and soaked in the cool sheen of phosphor-blue gauge and halo lighting.
The XF Supercharged revives every hallmark from Jaguar’s storied past. From its easy saunter to its fury when you’re charging to its flair for making a grand entrance, the XF Supercharged stands to go down as a landmark model in the company’s history, like the E-Type transmitting to automotive rivals a steely communique from Coventry, England.In this case, it’s saying, “Jaguar is Jaguar again.”
