The Dow sat at 11,800ish when we peeled out of the Car and Driver lot. Down a tick. From its Friday record, sure, but nobody cared. We were all stock-watchers now, staring at indexes and counting down the days until we could quit, buy something fast, and tell our bosses where to put their quarterly bonuses.
After that? You drive.
We grouped five four-doors here. All V-8s hovering near 300 horses. Five-speed autos. More leather inside than a Gucci flagship store. A gaggle of electric widgets begging to be pushed. You thought QWERTY was hard? Meet “navi,” your GPS system. It will judge you.
Price? Seventy thousand dollars. Plus tax. Plus license. Plus the inevitable regret that fades quickly once you feel that power window go down.
Who made the cut? Four old favorites. One new Benz. In May ’99 we called the new S-Class “possibly the finest automobile built.” It’s true. But for this money? We picked the S430, not the V-12 heavyweights. It’s the entry level for us, packs a 4.3-liter V-8, and has more gizmos than a Swiss army knife designed by Inspector Gadget.
Last year’s winner was the Lexus LS400. Smooth as butter. Silent as a library. Then the BMW 740i, because drivers still have feet, followed by the Audi A8 (all-wheel, aluminum, fancy) and the Jaguar Vanden Plas. Sensually sculpted.
The Dow might punch through 12,000 by the time you read this. Some guy in a tie says 12 million isn’t far off. You’re facing a decision. Now. Which sedan survives Easy Street?
5th: Jaguar Vanden Plas
Old souls. British style. Imagine furniture that drives you around. That’s the VDP.
It smells like Connolly leather and expensive wood polish. The wood isn’t just slapped on. It’s burl. Dark fields with light grain pins. Look closely at the back seat tables. They fold down like in first class. Intricate. Beautiful. Pointless. Why are they curved? Because soup spills. Specifically, m’lord’s soup into his lap. Decorative over practical.
The rear seats imply a driver is hired elsewhere. The right-front switch lets Mr. Big push his seat forward so he has legroom. Nice touch. But we’re not butlers. And if we did sit in back, the Jag feels small. Low roof. Low cushions. Narrow shoulders.
The cockpit feels intimate, sure. But for a six-footer with wide knees, the Lexus or Mercedes feels like a house. The Jag feels like a closet with good lighting.
And the dash? A blur of buttons. Climate control, stereo, volume—all jammed down by your knee. You’re hunting for switches. Eyes off the road. Not sporty.
Drive it though. The shocks let it flow. It glides. Quietly. The Lexus is quieter, sure. But the Jag is plush. Too plush? Maybe. On bad pavement, you feel a rubbery shiver through the floorboard. Other cars would feel numb. The Jag stays sharp. It grips. It responds.
The Engine: 4.0-liter eight-cam V-8. Thrilling noise. Hits 60 in 7.1 seconds. Fastest here. Tops out at 144. The ZF automatic shifts softly, almost too softly. It gets confused if you lift suddenly. Keep the pedal mashed and it’s pure joy. At 140? A bit woozy. The guy in the back won’t care. He’s already asleep.
HIGHS: Curves that turn heads. Wood that looks real. Silence.
LOWS: Sitting hurts after a while. The body twists slightly. Buttons you can’t see.
VERDICT: A cruiser. Not a hustler.
4th: Mercedes-Benz S430
Mercedes used to be boring. Stiff. Serious. Gray men in gray cars.
Not anymore. This looks emotional. Wind-swept. Inside, it’s warm. The wood curves along the window sills. The dash is voluptuous. The color of wood reminds you of caramel or maybe a fine cigar. The leather begs you to sit. Nakedly sit.
Can a German brand get Italian flair? Apparently, yes.
So why fourth? It was close. Really close. Only five points separate the top four. But points matter.
The interior is fantastic. Huge. The driver’s seat slides back so far our tall guy hit the wall. The back seat wins. Best roominess in the group. It’s quiet. Almost Lexus quiet.
But then there’s the gadgetry.
Rain sensors start wipers automatically. Doors pull themselves shut fully. Buttons for thigh support. Sun shades pop up. Mirrors fold in via remote. Suspension raises for gravel. It’s impressive. It’s also distracting. We’d rather drive.
Performance: Sluggish. 60 mph took forever compared to the pack. Last in the quarter-mile. Skidpad? 0.76g. Lowest grip. Brakes have dead zones before they bite.
Steering feels thin. No connection to the front tires. As you turn faster, it gets harder—but in a scary, inconsistent way. You lose track. The auto-box shift lever looks cool, like the Dodge ones, but it doesn’t give full control. The car overrides you sometimes.
HIGHS: Interior style is unmatched. Legroom is absurd. Toys abound.
LOWS: Brakes floaty at the top. Center controls annoy the living hell out of you. Storage bins restrict how you sit.
VERDICT: Cold Germans decided to try warmth. Mostly works.
We felt wheel hop. Old-school bouncing on bad patches. The body flexed. Visible. You could tell the chassis wasn’t rigid enough for the isolation it promises. But hey, it feels like a lounge chair on wheels. If that’s what you want, buy this one.
3rd: Audi A8 4.2 quattro
Sporty. This one actually wants to move.
Cockpit feels small, but not tight like the Jag. Windowsills sit higher. You’re tucked in. Audi gave the driver more knee space under the dash, which matters. But back seat? Tight. Two fit fine. Add a third and you’re wrestling. Humans as cargo. Not nice.
Audi builds sporting mood via ergonomics. Best layout of any car here. Buttons within reach. Light wood trim adds a smirk to the otherwise stern face. Suspension cycles fast. Bouncy, sure, compared to the float of the Benz. But solid. The aluminum frame doesn’t boomed like heavier sedans might.
Engine: Upgraded for 2000. 310 horses. Fastest. Hits 60 in seven seconds. Beasts to 100 and the quarter mile (15.3). Tops 130.
But grip? Meh. Only slightly better than the Benz at 0.77g. And the brakes? The weakest of all. 202 feet to stop from 70. You’ll swear at that. We felt fade on twisties. Tires scream. They hum. The Continental tires sing loudly on smooth roads. They slip early. No warning until the steering suddenly tells you the car has forgotten friction.
Tiptronic shifting is excellent. One of the best manumatics around. But steering effort doesn’t ramp up correctly when pushing hard. You miss cues about when the tires lose grip. Dangerous.
Instrument cluster markings stayed white at night instead of glowing red like before. A dumb change. Red instruments were Audi’s signature. Now it’s just… white. Blinding.
HIGHS: Quick off the line. Fun to toss around. Stays planted somewhat.
LOWS: Tire noise drives you mad. Ride gets harsh. Seats five, feeds one.
VERDICT: Go anywhere grip, questionable steering feel.
Sunglasses wearers beware. The glowing red climate lights sit low on the dash. Polarized lenses make them disappear. You turn off your heat. Or heat yourself up. Not clever.
2nd: Lexus LS400
Grace. Composure.
It’s a Rolls-Royce budget car. Same refinement. A fraction of the cost. The ride absorbs bumps like a memory foam mattress. Ruts vanish. Silence reigns. When you stomp the gas, the V-8 tears silk.
Structure is stiff. Stiffest. No thunks. No creaks. Just smooth forward motion. You arrive at destinations before the passenger even wakes up.
But look at it. Boring. Anonymous. Witness protection sedan.
There is no muscular pose. No command of the road in the visual sense. No one points. No “wow.” You leave a parking lot, you won’t be glanced at twice. It doesn’t care about attention. It only cares about comfort.
Engine: Smooth. Powerful. Refined transmission. It does exactly what you ask, politely and instantly. Braking is firm, consistent. Grip is decent, not spectacular. Steering is light, too light. But who cares? You’re gliding.
It wins on peace. Total, unadulterated peace. The others argue about technology, or handling, or looks. The Lexus ignores them all. It just sits there, perfect in its indifference.
