ON ABC’s alien drama “V,” the extraterrestrials look like supermodels. But beneath the seductive skin live ornery lizard-beings with superhuman strength and speed. What do space reptiles have to do with the Aston Martin DBS Volante, you ask?
Well, like the aliens in “V,” the DBS exudes powerful aesthetic appeal. Humans are drawn to it and fascinated by it. The carbon-fiber aerodynamic diffuser at its rear notwithstanding, this is a car that eschews styling gimmicks and relies on the classic formula of beautiful proportions. It looks fast but mature — no boy-racer scoops, no wild stripes.
The car I drove was even painted in a hue that evoked a clenched-jaw, upper-class sensibility: “Hardly Green.” That is a description not just of the color, but of the fuel economy.
And yet, for all its visual appeal and polish, when the accelerator goes down and the tachometer crosses 4,000 r.p.m., the DBS reveals its devilish side. The exhaust emits a brutal howl and the 5.9-liter V-12 explodes toward its 510-horsepower peak output in a ferocious rush. The paddle-shifted transmission cracks off gear changes with absolutely no concern for subtlety or decorum. Monstrous brake calipers grip the carbon-ceramic rotors hard enough, it seems, to pull your nose off your face.
After I left a parking lot, a friend said later, I could be heard merging onto a highway more than a mile away. The color may be Hardly Green, but indecent tromps on the gas will leave bystanders Hard of Hearing.
In Aston Martin nomenclature, the DBS is the top of the line and the Volante is the convertible. While the DBS coupe is a direct competitor to the Ferrari 599 GTB, the Volante exists in its own superexclusive sphere, a classic droptop front-engine V-12 sports car. For all of its up-to-the-moment technology (carbon-ceramic brakes, carbon-fiber hood, a 1,000-watt Bang & Olufsen sound system) in terms of layout the car is something of a throwback.
And you can order a “smoker’s kit” as an option. I imagine this includes a pipe and a set of earplugs so that you can’t hear anyone complaining that you’re stinking up a $300,000 car.
For that sort of dough, your car should start not with a key but with a glass and stainless steel “emotion control unit” that glides into the dash and pulses as red as the balance sheets of your vanquished business adversaries.
And — valets take note — that’s exactly how you fire up the DBS. Which is nice, because it’s a letdown to climb into a supercar and realize that the ignition key is a mass-market part shared with some $20,000 hatchback. (I’m not naming names, Lamborghini.)
The rest of the interior is equally highbrow. The knobs on the dash are machined from solid aluminum, and leather covers nearly everything that isn’t made of carbon fiber. (Although, Sir or Madame, if you wanted the carbon fiber upholstered in leather, I’m sure anything is possible.)
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So the DBS Volante has a gorgeous interior, a seductive exterior and riotous performance. But Aston’s divorce from Ford has left the company with a new problem: Jaguar.
Back when Aston and Jaguar were both under the Ford umbrella, there was a carefully planned hierarchy: no Jaguar would ever tread on an Aston flagship. Now, with the British companies spun off to new owners — Jaguar to Tata of India and Aston to a consortium that includes Kuwaiti investors — there’s no such structure. Therefore, if you want a beautiful aluminum-body, four-seat, 510-horsepower British convertible, you have two options: the DBS Volante or the Jaguar XKR.
Is it coincidence that Jaguar tuned its new direct-injection supercharged V-8 to produce exactly the same horsepower as the DBS’s V-12? I think not, old chap.
Granted, the Jag has some déclassé plastic interior pieces you won’t find in the Aston, but maybe you could live with those for the $200,000 you’d save by passing over the DBS.
And maybe Aston customers would never consider a Jag, no matter how much power it has. After all, an XKR, for all its virtues, is not a supermodel that morphs into an angry space lizard. And if you think I’ve overdone that analogy, I’m sorry, but I’m just trying to write the world’s first Aston Martin review that doesn’t mention James Bon — whoops. Maybe next time.
Next Article in Automobiles (2 of 17) » A version of this article appeared in print on January 3, 2010, on page AU1 of the New York edition.
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