Instrumented Test
When BMW did its Lazarus number with the Mini Cooper in 2001, it seemed the only question was how long the company could sustain the revival. Powertrain variations notwithstanding, a subcompact, front-drive two-box design doesn’t provide much opportunity for embroidery.
That’s what we thought—until the convertible, Clubman, and Countryman came along. Now here’s the Coupe, with a roadster version soon to follow, and it’s clear that the modern Mini refuses to be limited by self-imposed stereotypes.
What’s not so clear with this variant is the point. Aside from style that’s not to be taken lightly, the Coupe diminishes functionality (reduced cargo space, no back seats, restricted rear sightlines) even though it essentially shares all but one of the dimensions-the roof is about an inch lower—of the four-seat Mini hatchback.
What emerges is a diminutive two-seater— roughly five inches taller than a folding-hardtop Mazda Miata but 10.3 inches shorter—that looks like a custom project begun by one craftsman and finished by another, each using a different plan. Mini publicity material uses the word “helmet” in connection with the design, and in the case of our test car, it looks like something created by an Oakland Raiders fan.
The awkward part is the integration of the turning vane at the trailing edge of the roof, exacerbated by the pop-up rear wing, which rises from the decklid when the pizza-sized speedo indicates 50 mph.
But there’s nothing awkward about the Coupe’s dynamics. As with the four-seat hatchback, its structure has the feel of something forged rather than assembled. The electric power steering is race-car quick and precise, and body roll is all but absent.
Our scales tell us the two-seater is about 100 pounds heavier than the four-seat hatchback. Either way, it remains a small front-drive car that understeers at its limits. Still, those limits are high and only reachable with the stability-control system turned off.
The Coupe is an entertaining place to be when the road gets kinky, and there’s something to be said for the sense of connection and intimacy that goes with a two-seater. Mini also asserts that, model for model, the Coupe is “the fastest-accelerating Mini ever.” No so fast, we say. The last Cooper S four-seat hatch we tested [May 2007] dashed to 60 in 6.2 seconds. This S Coupe took 6.6 seconds, though quarter-mile performance was identical: 15.0 at 95 mph.
On the other hand, the Coupe turned in consistent sports-car stops—159 feet from 70 mph—and excellent grip: 0.91 g. We do wonder how much its responses would be diminished by softening the suspension bushings—which feel as if they’re made of obsidian—a point or two. “Rough” may understate the ride quality here.
Then there’s the matter of money. With a base price of $25,300, the Cooper S Coupe is $1500 more than the four-seat Cooper S hatch. But it’s $2745 less than a folding-hardtop Miata and delivers more performance (minus sun-in-face), as well as respectable fuel economy (27 mpg city and 35 highway per the EPA, 27 mpg observed).
However, beware of those option boxes. Our test car had $7850 in extras, and at $33,150, it begins to look a little expensive.
But then, what price do you set on style?
