BETTER bold than boring. That’s been the Cadillac design ethos since the CTS introduced the company’s starched-collar Art and Science styling theme in 2002.
At the time, I unkindly described the new sedan as a Cubist snowplow. Still, that CTS was a major improvement over the frumpy German-built Catera it replaced, despite some clumsiness in its execution of Art and Science geometry.
By 2008 the CTS was rightly seen as the elixir of youth, re-energizing Cadillac and expanding the division’s sales to include retirement-village visitors, rather than just residents. That second-generation model made the CTS a legitimate luxury player, with Lexus levels of comfort and technology — and enough spirit to romp with Infinitis.
Both the sedan and a Sport Wagon that followed in 2009 smoothed the rougher styling edges; suddenly Cadillac had a pair of handsome rogues on its hands. Now comes a two-door CTS, the first four-seat Caddy coupe since the senior-centric Eldorado ended its half-century run in 2002. This leaves Cadillac just one body style — a convertible — shy of the four that the BMW 3 Series and Mercedes-Benz E-Class rely on to lead their respective compact and midsize luxury segments.
While Cadillac might have been forgiven for playing it safe, its new coupe is instead a brazen slap to the face of genteel luxury coupes. From its glittering grille to the boomerang taillamps on a tail the size and shape of Paul Bunyan’s ax, the CTS coupe is a literal wedge issue in terms of styling.
Several bowled-over onlookers said the Cadillac looked like an auto-show dream car, the kind of thing you’d only see twirling onstage to a thumping dance beat. All angular, meaty slabs, with tiny windows that could be portals for laser gunsights, the Cadillac looks as if a stealth bomber just touched down in the neighborhood.
Viewed another way, this CTS could and should be the official car of the “Jersey Shore” cast; its ab-forward style carries a whiff of hair gel and Axe body spray. But if you find that Situation attractive — and any high-attitude car, from the Chrysler 300 to the BMW 6 Series coupe, finds both fans and detractors — the CTS could well end up like the Chrysler, a crossover hit that won over both the urban audience and self-styled Sopranos of the suburbs.
Controversy dissolves inside, soothed by a cabin that should please even conservative luxury shoppers. As in the sedan or wagon, the interior is graveyard quiet and smartly professional. One questionable touch: doors that open with electronic touch pads, as on the Corvette, abandoning conventional door handles inside and out.
The CTS’s multimedia touch screen rises automatically from the top of the dashboard, and its functions are blessedly intuitive. Bands of attractive wood stripe the dashboard, doors, steering wheel and shifter. The deeply sculptured seats are handsome and comfortable, if a few moves short of the multiadjustable buckets in some rivals.
A few elements, including a wonky-feeling glovebox button, reminded me that this was no Mercedes. But that’s when I also reminded myself that the midsize Cadillac’s price is more in line with smaller coupes like the 3 Series and Infiniti G37.
CTS pricing opens at $38,990; my feature-laden Premium Collection edition started at $47,825 and rose to $50,035 with options including 19-inch polished aluminum wheels, steering-wheel shift buttons and larger disc brakes that deliver a BMW-beating stopping distance from 70 m.p.h.
The 3.6-liter V-6, which ably motivates the Chevy Camaro as well, is powerful and sophisticated. But while 304 horsepower delivers a reasonable 6.4-second sprint to 60 m.p.h., the hefty Cadillac is actually nipped by the 4-cylinder turbo Audi A5 and the 268-horsepower Mercedes.
And should a BMW 3 Series or Infiniti G37 come calling, well, ouch. I drove the torchingly fast BMW 335is coupe just before the Caddy, and the Bimmer skimmed the road like a water bug in comparison.
As a luxury sport coupe, the Cadillac’s real issue is that it feels big on the outside, small on the inside and heavy throughout.
I’m 5 feet 11 inches, and my head was brushing the CTS’s rear glass, not a winning position for anything beyond a short hop. The front seat belts bisect the opening to the rear seat at an annoyingly low angle, forcing you to climb over them or limbo underneath.
Most luxury coupes (aside from the roomy Mercedes E350) demand back-row compromises, but if rear headroom is a priority, save your scalp and look elsewhere. The trunk’s practicality is also hindered by a tiny opening and cheap gooseneck hinges that steal space or clamp down on cargo that gets in their way.
Worse yet, the CTS vividly illustrates General Motors’ nagging problem with vehicular heft: as with Land Rover and its overfed S.U.V.’s, recent G.M. models are inexplicably heavier than their competitors. When Car and Driver tested the coupe, the scale’s readout sneaked past two tons, making the CTS the chunkiest among its competitors, some 300 pounds more than the BMW or the roomier Mercedes E350.
Contributing to the CTS’s feeling of excessive size is the nearly horizontal rear glass that’s hard to see through; the optional rear parking camera seems a must. Yet the CTS hides its bulk reasonably well, especially with the Summer Performance Package that adds 19-inch wheels and tires (and stiffens the suspension).
The Cadillac really sticks to the pavement, even badly broken pavement, reminding you of what a fine chassis lies beneath. Like its siblings, the coupe shows off extensive structural and sound-damping efforts, making it silent and controlled over all varieties of pavement, the equal of any Lexus. And while I found the Caddy’s steering unnaturally heavy at times, it also has a feeling of precision that Lexus doesn’t always match. An available 6-speed manual transmission (not offered on the base model) is another attraction; a 6-speed automatic is standard.
This segment, of course, resembles a casting call for willowy runway models. Among the Audi A5 and S5, Mercedes E-Class and BMW 3 Series especially, you could argue all day over which one is prettiest. But those Euro models are also notable for their elegance, a nearly feminine grace.
The CTS is their darkly masculine foil, the yang to their yin. Which side of that philosophy you’re on is up to you.
•
INSIDE TRACK: Nothing subtle this way comes.
This article has been revised to reflect the following correction:
Correction: September 20, 2010
An earlier version of this article misstated the difference in weight between the Cadillac CTS and its competitors.
At the time, I unkindly described the new sedan as a Cubist snowplow. Still, that CTS was a major improvement over the frumpy German-built Catera it replaced, despite some clumsiness in its execution of Art and Science geometry.
By 2008 the CTS was rightly seen as the elixir of youth, re-energizing Cadillac and expanding the division’s sales to include retirement-village visitors, rather than just residents. That second-generation model made the CTS a legitimate luxury player, with Lexus levels of comfort and technology — and enough spirit to romp with Infinitis.
Both the sedan and a Sport Wagon that followed in 2009 smoothed the rougher styling edges; suddenly Cadillac had a pair of handsome rogues on its hands. Now comes a two-door CTS, the first four-seat Caddy coupe since the senior-centric Eldorado ended its half-century run in 2002. This leaves Cadillac just one body style — a convertible — shy of the four that the BMW 3 Series and Mercedes-Benz E-Class rely on to lead their respective compact and midsize luxury segments.
While Cadillac might have been forgiven for playing it safe, its new coupe is instead a brazen slap to the face of genteel luxury coupes. From its glittering grille to the boomerang taillamps on a tail the size and shape of Paul Bunyan’s ax, the CTS coupe is a literal wedge issue in terms of styling.
Several bowled-over onlookers said the Cadillac looked like an auto-show dream car, the kind of thing you’d only see twirling onstage to a thumping dance beat. All angular, meaty slabs, with tiny windows that could be portals for laser gunsights, the Cadillac looks as if a stealth bomber just touched down in the neighborhood.
Viewed another way, this CTS could and should be the official car of the “Jersey Shore” cast; its ab-forward style carries a whiff of hair gel and Axe body spray. But if you find that Situation attractive — and any high-attitude car, from the Chrysler 300 to the BMW 6 Series coupe, finds both fans and detractors — the CTS could well end up like the Chrysler, a crossover hit that won over both the urban audience and self-styled Sopranos of the suburbs.
Controversy dissolves inside, soothed by a cabin that should please even conservative luxury shoppers. As in the sedan or wagon, the interior is graveyard quiet and smartly professional. One questionable touch: doors that open with electronic touch pads, as on the Corvette, abandoning conventional door handles inside and out.
The CTS’s multimedia touch screen rises automatically from the top of the dashboard, and its functions are blessedly intuitive. Bands of attractive wood stripe the dashboard, doors, steering wheel and shifter. The deeply sculptured seats are handsome and comfortable, if a few moves short of the multiadjustable buckets in some rivals.
A few elements, including a wonky-feeling glovebox button, reminded me that this was no Mercedes. But that’s when I also reminded myself that the midsize Cadillac’s price is more in line with smaller coupes like the 3 Series and Infiniti G37.
CTS pricing opens at $38,990; my feature-laden Premium Collection edition started at $47,825 and rose to $50,035 with options including 19-inch polished aluminum wheels, steering-wheel shift buttons and larger disc brakes that deliver a BMW-beating stopping distance from 70 m.p.h.
The 3.6-liter V-6, which ably motivates the Chevy Camaro as well, is powerful and sophisticated. But while 304 horsepower delivers a reasonable 6.4-second sprint to 60 m.p.h., the hefty Cadillac is actually nipped by the 4-cylinder turbo Audi A5 and the 268-horsepower Mercedes.
And should a BMW 3 Series or Infiniti G37 come calling, well, ouch. I drove the torchingly fast BMW 335is coupe just before the Caddy, and the Bimmer skimmed the road like a water bug in comparison.
As a luxury sport coupe, the Cadillac’s real issue is that it feels big on the outside, small on the inside and heavy throughout.
I’m 5 feet 11 inches, and my head was brushing the CTS’s rear glass, not a winning position for anything beyond a short hop. The front seat belts bisect the opening to the rear seat at an annoyingly low angle, forcing you to climb over them or limbo underneath.
Most luxury coupes (aside from the roomy Mercedes E350) demand back-row compromises, but if rear headroom is a priority, save your scalp and look elsewhere. The trunk’s practicality is also hindered by a tiny opening and cheap gooseneck hinges that steal space or clamp down on cargo that gets in their way.
Worse yet, the CTS vividly illustrates General Motors’ nagging problem with vehicular heft: as with Land Rover and its overfed S.U.V.’s, recent G.M. models are inexplicably heavier than their competitors. When Car and Driver tested the coupe, the scale’s readout sneaked past two tons, making the CTS the chunkiest among its competitors, some 300 pounds more than the BMW or the roomier Mercedes E350.
Contributing to the CTS’s feeling of excessive size is the nearly horizontal rear glass that’s hard to see through; the optional rear parking camera seems a must. Yet the CTS hides its bulk reasonably well, especially with the Summer Performance Package that adds 19-inch wheels and tires (and stiffens the suspension).
The Cadillac really sticks to the pavement, even badly broken pavement, reminding you of what a fine chassis lies beneath. Like its siblings, the coupe shows off extensive structural and sound-damping efforts, making it silent and controlled over all varieties of pavement, the equal of any Lexus. And while I found the Caddy’s steering unnaturally heavy at times, it also has a feeling of precision that Lexus doesn’t always match. An available 6-speed manual transmission (not offered on the base model) is another attraction; a 6-speed automatic is standard.
This segment, of course, resembles a casting call for willowy runway models. Among the Audi A5 and S5, Mercedes E-Class and BMW 3 Series especially, you could argue all day over which one is prettiest. But those Euro models are also notable for their elegance, a nearly feminine grace.
The CTS is their darkly masculine foil, the yang to their yin. Which side of that philosophy you’re on is up to you.
•
INSIDE TRACK: Nothing subtle this way comes.
This article has been revised to reflect the following correction:
Correction: September 20, 2010
An earlier version of this article misstated the difference in weight between the Cadillac CTS and its competitors.
