First Drive Review
To rouse its sports-car soul from a 40-year nap, Jaguar set its sights on Porsche’s 911 Carrera cabriolet, the crown prince of roadster speed and agility. With the 911 playing Draco in this pageant, Jaguar’s Harry Potter dare not be a pussyfoot.
It’s not. The F-type revealed its cunning on the Navarra Circuit in Spain and while attacking the Pyrenean foothills. After living with the comeback cat for a couple of days, we are certain this is not the reprise of your uncle’s vintage sports car or an abridged version of the Jaguar cruisers battling the luxury German juggernaut. Rather, the F-type is a feline bred with a wild streak and a feral yearning to meet or beat Porsche’s best moves.
F Stands for Feral
Aesthetically, the F bears no family resemblance to Jaguar’s last great sports car, the E-type, allegedly endorsed by Enzo Ferrari as the most beautiful car ever created. The 2014 F looks more like a son of the C-type, the Jaguar racer that won LeMans in 1953. When you top a large front-mounted vee engine with a supercharger and intercooler, then add a layer of pedestrian protection, the result is chunky proportions. The high hood and beltline make the F-type look like it’s wearing a turtleneck.
The cockpit respects both trendy and traditional design views. A touch screen flanked by eight buttons provides a full menu of navigation, car setup, and communication and entertainment programs. Substantial knobs and toggles operate the climate-control system. The polished and painted metal and the double-stitched yard goods that line the F-type are tastefully finished. Seats pirated from the XKR-S hug you in all the right places.
No Pussyfooting Around
Soothing ride motions and polite manners, two traditional Jaguar virtues, are absent here. The F-type’s suspension is so taut and the body structure so rigid that every misaligned grain of pavement sends notice to the cabin, making this the roughest-riding Jaguar ever and a roadster ready for track day. There is no roll in the bends, no brake dive, and not a hint of squat during a full-bore leap forward. Jaguar’s earnest intention is confirmed by the lack of Comfort or Normal settings for the F’s adaptive dampers. This Porsche in a cat suit pounces on apexes and keeps all paws planted.
Jag engineers resisted the move to electrically assisted power steering, instilling the F-type’s fat-rimmed, leather-wrapped wheel with a slack-free, on-center connection, a useful rise in effort with increasing lock, and a ratio quick enough to deliver agile cornering response. Unfortunately, they neglected to finish the job with feedback. When the front end begins to slide at the adhesion limit, word of what’s going on at the tire patches arrives through the seat and to your ears, but no such message is telegraphed via the steering wheel.
