Over the last year, we've watched Ford officials desperately plugging the fruits of their 'reinvigorated' Mercury brand. The Blue Oval's trumpeted reinvestment into the fallen badge can be summed-up thusly: more reheated Fords in shinier tins. The main difference from previous attempts to keep the former purveyor of flatheads from flat-lining lies in Ford's willingness to tarnish old monikers like Monterey, Montego and Marauder to sell a few extra units. What's old is new again, and vice-versa.

Journalists attending a Mercury press event these days must muffle their guffaws while Elena Ford's minions wax euphoric about 'rebirth' and 'DNA', only to pull the sheet on, say, the Mariner, a Ford Escape that emerged from fashion school with a skosh more chrome and an analog dashboard clock. This latest Mercury may in fact be a competent little SUV; the Escape from which it spins isn't at all bad. But most of the Mariner's salient points are available on the cheaper bread-and-butter Escape. So why bother?

Mercury suffers from a half-baked brand strategy, based solely on the notion that consumers are dim enough to fork over a sizeable premium for a handful of embellishments to a "less prestigious" product. The product philosophy amounts to little more than garnish on what a cynical baker might refer to as Ford's 'day olds.' This folly is illustrated throughout Mercury's product lineup, from the underwhelming Monterey minivan (a Freestar biscuit with a daub of marmalade) to the Marauder, a sinister-appearing but gutless Jurassic holdover with a drivetrain that couldn't see off a Honda Accord.

It's impossible not to conclude that the Ford subsidiary is falling prey to the same delusional behavior that deep-sixed the Mercury marque's [modest] value in the first place. The attempt seems particularly misguided considering the fact that the Mercury badge has no clout whatsoever. Simply put, buyers are having none of it.

As of July 1st, Dearborn reports that its inventory on the less-than-stunning Mercury Monterey sits (and sits and sits) at 174 days. The month previous, before incentives ratcheted into overdrive, dealers were lumbered with a staggering 245-day supply. By comparison, Ford Freestar inventories sit at 93 days, and even that is considered high (the average car supply is but 59 calendar ticks). The five-year-old Honda Odyssey, the Freestar's direct competitor, has a 37-day supply.

Who's kidding whom here? The facts on the forecourt are both stark and unavoidable: Mercury's sales are lost in space. As an aggregate, U.S. Lincoln-Mercury dealers sold an average of eighteen vehicles in June. Eighteen. Even lowly, product-starved Saab managed to shift an average of 18 units in the same timeframe.

Let's be clear: Mercury's Achilles' heel has always been Dearborn's failure give the marque a clear-cut purpose and/or design direction. In a rare display of corporate humility, Ford officials have recently gone on record to admit that the Mercury name really hasn't stood for much of anything for the last twenty-five years. This means that a forty-year-old potential consumer has no sentiments (fond or otherwise) regarding the brand. You don't have to be a focus group leader to know that Mercury's lack of image is one hell of a big eight-ball to be sitting behind come buying time.

To be sure, Mercury has produced a fair number of memorable automobiles over the years: the '53 Monarch, '63 Marauder, '70 Cougar Eliminator and more. But there is nothing in the current lineup that even remotely matches the excitement and individuality of these venerable nameplates. Ford itself has failed to note the palpable irony and journalistic pity it arouses by displaying vintage Turnpike Cruisers and Hi-Po Cougars at debuts for such soullessly Xeroxed transportation devices as the Monterey.

So is it closing time for Mercury? Bottom line: Ford needs cash and new volume models yesterday. Now is not the time to be futzing around with virtually profitless distractions like Mercury.

Insiders say that the Mercury marque soldiers on solely to sate stand-alone Lincoln-Mercury dealers starved for product. Ford's troubled dealership relations will come as news to few. Ash canning the entire brand would do little to alleviate that concern, at least over the short-term. Having said that, Ford does itself no favors by maintaining a rudderless and woefully under-funded division. It simply prolongs the inevitable and drains the automaker's coffers of money that might otherwise go to a genuine volume player for the Blue Oval.

Call it 'trim and tape' or 'smoke and mirrors,' but this dog just won't hunt. It is high time to euthanize the Mercury division. Dearborn can always wait thirty years, when Ford is in better corporate health, and pull a 'Maybach'; reintroducing a brand that nobody but the deeply automotively-obsessed remembers anyway (on the thinnest wisp of a deeply embellished history, no less). Perhaps by then people won't remember the Topaz.

Is Scion a brand or corporate sleight-of-hand? The sales campaigns for the xA and xB display an ongoing and achingly self-conscious attempt to endow the Toyota subsidiary's products with its own distinct, youth-oriented identity. The company's demographics show that the marketing boys have, at the least, established a beachhead amongst their target market. In California, the xA and xB have demonstrated their appeal to young customers who fear that Mom's Camry is just too… well… Chevrolet.

On the other hand, Scion's products smack of parts bin engineering. Apart from their unconventional shapes and higher quality, the xA and xB are thoroughly banal commuter tins. In fact, consumers have seen their ilk before; a goodly portion of the pairings' greasy bits being cribbed directly from the prosaic Echo (a rare vehicular misfire for The House of Toyota). Scion's initial offerings may be cheerful, but they're also cheap.

Scion's latest salvo, the tC, aims markedly higher. With 160hp on tap (and an optional supercharger for the gluttonous), the tC distinguishes itself from its siblings by promising actual forward motion. The $16,500 coupe also provides refinement levels well above its class average. In the process, however, the tC steps ALL OVER Toyota's own aging Celica, a car selling for thousands more, despite offering substantially less refinement and bang-for-the-buck.

The problem is far more profound than simple fratricide. In the shallow end of the motoring pool, the axiom remains: small cars = small profits. Most small cars never realize black ink. Those that do don't until well into a model's lifecycle, after the cost of development and tooling have been amortized. By that point, whatever sliver of profit has been realized must be returned into R&D for the next generation. It's a vicious cycle with a low return rate.

The concept of fiscal viability inevitably comes to rest on the argument that small cars benefit a company's long-term prosperity. The crux of this theory– long employed to slake company bean counters– is that starter vehicles are the "gateway drug" to brand loyalty. The hypothesis lacks credible statistical proof, and defies common sense. Do corporate strategists seriously expect a Chevy Cobalt driver to drive a Cadillac in ten or twenty year's time?

Let's face it: the notion of cradle-to-grave brand loyalty is dead, a victim of an America increasingly addicted to the concept of ever-changing "choice." In this increasingly video-bite driven, high-definition society, with its endless stream of new products, a freshly-minted Scion owner is seriously unlikely to become the Lexus LS buyer of the future, no matter how high those J.D. Power rankings climb.

Lest we forget, despite their successes, this is the same Toyota that made several unsuccessful overtures into the full-size pickup arena (a state of affairs they have yet to rectify), along with a slew of oddball minivans (before they cracked the code). Obviously, for every lukewarm MR2 Spyder, Toyota has produced several homeruns (Camry, Highlander etc.) to take up the slack. Taken as an aggregate, they're on quite a roll. But they're certainly not infallible.

It's also instructive to note how other companies' 'mold-breaking' youth-targeted entries have fared. The irony is that most vehicles earmarked for modish young trendsetters usually find their audience among an altogether older demographic. How many fifty-year-olds do you see wheeling about in Chrysler PT Cruisers? Honda Elements? Quite a few. Perhaps they've been taken in by their 401k-sympathetic pricing, or maybe it's simply that older consumers can look past the cars' faddish designs and spot an inner utilitarian goodness… the ability to swallow mass quantities of potting soil while sipping gas, say.

Either way, once the Baby Boomers or Golden Oldies migrate to a car in sufficient numbers, even the most naive marketers know they can kiss a model's youth appeal hasta la bye-bye. What's more, older consumers are INFINITELY less likely to plump for options like the $299 illuminated cupholders (yes, really) that help Scion's quest for profitability. Worried yet? It's worth noting that Scion's youth-happy xB is already charting 51% of its owners at/above age 35. That percentage may well increase, as the xB's notoriety swings eastward from California into less style-conscious quarters.

There are other potential trouble spots for Scion-tists. Mitsubishi already learned the hard way that building a business on a young, fiscally irresponsible customer base is short term gain for long term pain. And again, there's that little matter of whether Toyota can grow the Scion sub-brand cost-effectively without cannibalizing sales from their own bigger-ticket offerings.

So, will Scion be successful? That depends on one's definition of the term. Scion's new products will realize new sales for Toyota, but it remains altogether suspect that these transactions will come from the demographic bogey Toyota is so desperate to court… and wasn't that the whole point of the exercise, anyway?

When Porsche decided they needed a cash cow in the shape of an SUV, they built a brand new truck and stuck a 911 face on it. The Cayenne isn't exactly what you'd call pretty, but there's genuine Porsche engineering underneath. When the fast-growing Saab brand decided to enter the American SUV fray, parent company GM took a different approach. They stuck a Swedish nose on a Trailblazer/Envoy, made some suspension mods, angled the instruments towards the driver, put the ignition between the seats and called it good.

To be fair, Saab swears on its smorgasbord that the 9-7X has brand-specific driving dynamics. Hmmm. Good as it is, a Porsche Cayenne still drives like a truck, not a 911 or Boxster. By the same token, a lowered and stiffened Envoy isn't likely to handle like a front-wheel-drive turbocharged Saab sedan. Besides, no matter how many Swedish engineers were involved, no matter how Scandinavian the driving experience, can you really call the gas-loving 9-7X a genuine Saab when it won't even be sold in Sweden? What the Hell happened to national automotive identity?

Relax. I'm not about to put on a George W. Bush mask, trash a McDonald's and rant against the forces of globalism. As far as I'm concerned, the more people who eat Big Macs the better (even if I don't). But you've got to wonder how the car industry thinks it can get away with transnational badge engineering in today's hugely competitive, niche-driven marketplace.

To wit: the Subaru Impreza Turbo may seem identical to the Mitsubishi Evo, but customers who buy such things make fine distinctions, and choose their loyalties carefully. If you build something Saab-like on top of the Scooby's platform, very few people who are attracted to the four-wheel-drive, rally-inspired niche will be fooled. Interested, sure, but not fooled. The Saab 9-2X will end up competing with itself, albeit in a different form.

The temptation to perform this branding slight of hand is immense. Corporate bean counters see disparate parts of their automotive empire trying to do the same thing at the same time. They figure the Mother company could achieve massive economies of scale by getting all the brands to use the same damn bits. And they're right. Toyota has just about conquered the world by building different models from common parts (e.g. the Toyota Camry sedan and the RX300 SUV). So what's wrong with GM saving tens of millions of dollars in engineering and avoiding additional production capacity by designing and building Saabs in Japan and Ohio?

Character. It's that series of tactile and visual clues that tell you you're in something designed and built by people of a particular nationality. It's the oil-dampened precision of an Audi glove box as it snicks home. It's the perfectly-positioned armrest of a BMW 7-Series. It's the way a man over 35 years of age can't get comfortable in a Lotus in less than thirty seconds. It's the irregular rocking sensation of a Corvette at idle. When it comes to cars, national character is a bit like the US Supreme Court's definition of pornography: you know it when you see it.

Or hear it. I once watched a British TV program where two blindfolded German car nerds successfully identified 10 different cars just from the sound of the front door closing. While most people have something called a "life", I'm sure that many average car buyers could perform a similar trick. You only have to pull the door handle of a Jaguar X-Type to know it's been Americanized. You only have to pull the door handle of a new XJ to know it hasn't.

Aha! Both Jags were designed and built in Britain! So where's your national character now? The X-Type was built on a Ford platform, the XJ wasn't. The X-Type was a new model, post-Ford, built specifically for the American market. The XJ was an evolution of a long-standing British design, built specifically for the greater glory of Jaguar. In fact, the X-Type proves what can happen when a corporate parent ignores or disrespects the national characteristics of a foreign subsidiary's business.

Obviously, not all multinational efforts are doomed to failure. Porsche builds superb Boxsters in Finland. VW builds killer R32's in Bratislava. And when Italy ran out of capacity, Lamborghini built a number of suitably Italian Gallardo's in Ingolstadt. But the key difference is that these machines were designed in their home countries, by people who understand their brand's heritage. Equally important, they were created for their home market, where a brand's heritage is always most jealously guarded.

There's no sugar-coating it: a Saab built in Ohio for Americans may be a damn fine truck, but it will squander the loyalty of the people who know the difference between a Saab, and a Saab story.

I called up Ford the other day. Apparently, they're still keen on putting Volvo, Land Rover, Jaguar and Aston Martin under one roof. Talk about weird. Passion dead people who want to stay alive buy Volvos. People who really do honestly intend to take their off-roader off-road someday (or at least drive it when it's snowing) buy Landies. Aspiring plutocrats buy Jags. People with more Mercedes than sense (i.e. people who don't mind when bits of their second car fall off) buy Astons. It's about as logical a mix as muesli, venison, Pimms and cocaine.

Apparently, it's not the forecourt from Hell. It's Ford Motor Company's Premium Automotive Group! Discriminating buyers who want the best, um, status safety off-road sports car can find it— or them—under one roof. PAG plans for each super dealership to feature a "Motor land" test-driving facility. Customers will have the opportunity to try out the car of their choice on an oval track or an off-road course. God forbid someone should take a wrong turn and drive an XKR-R off-road, or a Defender around a proper corner. If it sounds confusing, that's because it is.

PAG Supremo Wolfgang Rietzle disagrees. He says the plan reflects "brand synergy". Like all auto executives, he's paid to say things like that. In fact, throwing all these cars together makes about as much sense as an off-road Aston (or Porsche, but don't get me started). The only reason these venerable brands are facing the retail equivalent of a shotgun wedding is that Ford owns them all, and Wolfie works for Ford, and Wolfie can't run Ford because he's a German and his last name isn't Ford, so he runs what companies he can, and wants them all neat and tidy, in one place, in order. Ya?

As bizarre as it sounds, Mr. Rietzle may be on to something. Brussels seems determined to let franchised dealers divorce their retail and service departments. Unencumbered by the need to keep so many different types of cars roadworthy, the uber dealership could represent a shift away from selling transportation, towards show biz. Think multiplex. We shall see: Ford opened its first PAG dealership two weeks ago in Saarbrücken. But even if a retail smorgasbord is The Way Forward in The Internet Age (2pm, The Burberry Suite, pens and No Doz supplied), someone's going to get hurt.

It won't be the Swedes. Volvo owners are a loyal bunch that will not—cannot— be distracted from their mission: to buy the same car they bought ten years ago. It won't be Land Rover. Given Land Rover's infamous build-quality, their buyers have already proven that they'll put up with just about anything. It won't be Jag. Rubbing shoulders with Purdey-loving Land Rover and Glam Rock Aston can only increase the brand's already insufferable (if effective) snob appeal. It will be Aston.

If any car brand depends on exclusivity, it's Aston Martin. People don't buy their cars because they're practical like a Porsche, or reliable like a Mercedes, or easy to drive like a BMW, or good around corners like a Ferrari, or mind-bendingly fast like a Lamborghini, or… wait a minute, why do people buy Astons? Oh yes, exclusivity. Character. That sort of thing. So, do Aston's "discerning" customers want to mix with people who boast about the miles per gallon achieved when they towed their caravan to ——? No, they do not. Nor do they wish to associate with customers who wear Wellington boots while they drive. Jag owners may be the right sort, but then again, probably not.

Throwing all these brands together raises some interesting questions. Like who sells what to whom, how, when and where? To which Wolfie has an interesting answer: "Each salesman will be an expert in his own brand," he explained to an overly credulous Times. "We are not dumbing down."

It's worrying that Aston is in the hands of a man who knows the expression "dumbing down". More importantly, Mr. Rietzle's answer tells us nothing about how salesman will deal with brand overlap. Volvo will soon make an SUV that will compete with the Freelander for the irrational affections of the School Run set. The Swedes also make a top down sports cruiser— an interesting if white bread alternative to the venerable Jaguar XK. When should a XJ customer be encouraged to trade-up to an Aston? Can an Aston customer ask for his change in X-Types? And, lest we forget, salesman will be salesman. There's bound to be poaching on a scale not seen since the Irish potato famine.

Oh OK, I admit it: no one in England actually "sells" anything. Customers are used to qualifying themselves— to the point where I've seen them reminding the salesman which options are available for their new car. But turning car dealerships into Selfridges surely tempts the Gods of Brand Identity. Can Ford resist the temptation to "rationalise" the hundreds of overpaid graphic designers, copywriters and photographers who knock out those brand-specific glossy brochures that provide a polite excuse for customers seeking a way to leave the showroom without buying a car? Will they settle on a PAG theme that unites Swedish utilitarian minimalism with traditional British, um, anything? Like a Jaguar S-Type, the idea may work, but it sure won't look pretty.

The PAG Group's "stack 'em high and sell 'em expensive" master plan does have a silver lining. At least it means they're leaving Ford alone. Ford currently makes some of the best handling cars on the road. By sticking all their sub-brands in quarantine, Billy Ford's Mob can keep the Blue Oval focused. As for Aston, well, if she can survive an oil embargo, safety regulations, emissions legislation, the stock market crash and a paddle shift system that fries the clutch in under an hour, she should be able to withstand contamination from Volvo et al. At least one hopes so, doesn't one?

Earlier this year, Ford was preparing to launch its revised F-150 pickup truck. The Boys from the Blue Oval knew all-too-well that their empires fortunes rested on their new truck's brawny shoulders. They also knew that Nissan's new Titan– the first Japanese product to crash America's full-size pick-up party– was set for release around the same time. So, pre-launch, Ford gave out phony towing numbers.

That's right; Ford deliberately leaked an incorrect maximum towing capacity of 9500lbs. The idea: trick Nissan's product engineers into competing against the fake number. Then, surprise! Reveal that the new F-150 can actually tow 9900lbs.! It worked. The F-150 out-pulls the Titan by 400lbs. Ford sandbagged Nissan.

When news of the tactic broke, Ford brand President Steve Lyons was about as far from contrite as an executive can get without actually saying "So what?" He justified Ford's disinformation campaign as "high stakes poker". "We thought we would put a conservative number out there and see what the competition would do… We make a lot of money on F-150, and it's a huge piece of our dealer profitability."

Oh, so that's alright then. Strangely, Nissan thinks it is. Listening to Chief Truck Engineer Larry Dominique, you'd think duplicity is the highest form of flattery. "When a well-established player in the segment has to use my truck as comparison, that's a lot of instant credibility," Dominique says. "If they have to react to us, we're obviously doing something right."

Indeed, Nissan is doing a lot right these days, what with the new 350Z screaming up the sales charts and their upmarket Infiniti brand catching fire. But what of Ford? Am I the only one who's shocked, saddened and appalled that one of America's most revered corporations feels it's OK to lie? Spin, sure, everybody spins. But this wasn't a normal game of factual footsie. It was a calculated attempt to subvert the process of fair competition. One that misled the public.

I'm no truck guy, but according to Dominique, many consumers put towing capacity near the top of their wish list. "Towing capacity is way up there. In some cases, it's more important than horsepower. Even people who don't own anything to tow tell us that someday they might. So towing is always in the purchase consideration."

Right, so, if a buyer heard tell of Ford's artificially low towing figures for the F-150, placed an order for a Nissan Titan, then discovered Ford had been bluffing and switched over to the F-150, could he or she sue Ford to recover his or her lost deposit? What about fraud? (We are talking about America.)

To my mind, the towing lie– small in itself– represents an enormous loss of face for Ford. Whatever else you can say about Henry Ford's beliefs, which included virulent anti-Semitism and staunch anti-unionism, Ford's founding father was a straight shooter in the great American tradition. He respected his country's faith in honesty, hard work and fair play. Somehow, I don't think the anti-Nissan "poker game" fits that remit.

Lest we forget, this tall towing tale follows hard on the heels of Mazda's horsepower debacle. Ford's Japanese partner was forced to admit that they'd inflated the horsepower figures for the Miata (MX5), and then again for the new RX8. In that case, the company responded well, offering generous financial restitution to owners– whether or not they bought their car based on Mazda's hp claims. Still, the stench of perfidy must surely have taken its toll on Mazda/Ford's most important asset: their reputation.

As a freelance automotive journalist, I'm extremely sensitive to issues of fact and reputation. I fact-check every article I write and try to represent myself properly to both sources and publications. Even so, I've made mistakes, paid the price, and learned my lesson. So I'm not criticizing Ford for their ethically bankrupt scheme, committed in the face of enormous financial pressures. It's their complete lack of contrition that I find so galling. Clearly, Ford feels free to repeat the tactic in similar circumstances.

If you want to be trusted, you must be trustworthy. Every day, tens of thousands of Ford employees bust a gut to do just that. I'm sure most of the workers who build the F-150 would have preferred it if Ford's PR flacks had said "Our truck's towing capacity will be 9900lbs. Beat that Nissan!" Instead, FoMoCo ends-up looking sneaky and underhanded. If you think about it, the dodgy maneuver almost makes it seem as if Nissan's got Ford running scared.

Maybe so. The Titan's standard V8 engine is more powerful than the F-150's optional V8. The Titan has a five-speed transmission to the F-150's four-speed box. Again, I'm not a truck guy. But facts is facts. A company's ability to face them determines its character. And, ultimately, its survival.

First, the good news: the Porsche Cayenne is a hit. Since its release up to this July, American dealers have flogged 6350 Cayennes. The SUV's sales have lifted turnover in Porsche's key market by 15%. With the introduction of a cheaper, six-cylinder Cayenne (sans S) in '04, Stuttgart's SUV business should continue to grow apace.

Now the bad news: the Porsche Cayenne is a hit. The increase masks a 21% sales drop for 911s and Boxsters. Bottom line: the Porsche Cayenne has transformed the world's pre-eminent sports car manufacturer into a truck maker with an ailing sports car business attached.

Porschefiles will clock the figures and predict doom and gloom (while things go boom) in Weidiking's lab. Of course, these are the same tragedians who threatened to gouge out their eyes when the 911's engine switched from air to water cooling. So the fact that the price of privately held Porsche preferred stock sank 17% this year is perhaps a better indication that there's something rotten in the state of Baden-Württemberg. After all, this is the same car maker that recently boasted the world's highest per vehicle profit margin.

If Porsche can still lay claim to that title, it won't be able to do so for long. There's a 60-day inventory of unsold Cayenne's waiting for winter on dealer lots. Two thousand dollar discounts are common. Common sense suggests the discounts will get deeper before the first flake falls. What's more, US dealers are offering money off the MSRP of all Porsches. Provided you're prepared to buy your new Porker as is, you can walk into an authorized dealer and buy a brand new 911 C4S for $5k under sticker. Ditto the Boxster S. A new Boxster will take a $4k hit, easy. And that's just for starters.

Clever readers will note the proviso: "as is". Porsche customers are particular people. They don't want a C4S. They want a Midnight Blue C4S with Savannah Beige leather, Turbo Look wheels, sports exhaust, carbon fiber door sills and a light wood/aluminum gear shift knob. Porsche dealers have always specced-up cars without buyers, but the majority of their sales have traditionally come from loyal customers who want their 911 or Boxster just so— and are happy to pay full whack for the privilege. This helps explain the excess Cayenne inventory…

Early press reviews slated the $56k base Cayenne's steel spring suspension as unrelentingly harsh. There were two ways around the problem: spend an additional $33k for an air sprung Turbo (retail $89,000) or pony up another $3200 for an S with air suspension. Unsurprisingly, the majority of Porsche's product-savvy customers signed up for an air-sprung S. As a result, the supplier ran out; you can't order an S with air suspension until further notice. Dealers are stuck with a burgeoning inventory of steel-sprung Cayennes.

Hello? Why didn't Porsche build all Cayennes with the [clearly superior] air suspension in the first place? And once they detected the problem, why didn't they stop making steel sprung models? More fundamentally, why didn't Porsche avoid all that air suspension, variable ride height, locking diff, three shock absorber setting, off-road crap from the start? Why didn't they just build a sexy truck that could blast down a public road like a 911?

There's cause for concern. The Cayenne is fighting for sales in America's most competitive market. Its rivals have a lot more money to invest in R&D, and they're about to unleash a flotilla of refreshed products. As the faster Infiniti FX45 proves, the Cayenne is in real danger of losing the main advantages separating it from the herd (and built Porsche's reputation): superior on-road dynamics. Although Porsche's brand cachet is still hard to beat, it's not impossible. Ask Mercedes or BMW. Their AMG and M-Power models have been chipping away at Porsche's "everyday supercar" title for years.

In fact, the days when Porsche's products were in a league of its own are long gone. The Honda S2000, Audi TT, Nissan 350Z and re-invigorated Mercedes SLK are all serious Boxster bashers. Mercedes SLR and Bentley's GT pose a direct challenge Porsche's forthcoming halo-mobile, the Carrera GT. Reviewers rate the Audeified Lamborghini Gallardo a better daily driver than the 911. It's a demented proposition, but the truth remains: Porsche has never faced so many worthy competitors on so many fronts at the same time.

When Porsche decided to build a truck, they claimed the digression was designed to generate cash to protect their core (read: sports car) business. The true believers know the company can regain its sports car dominance. May we suggest using Cayenne cash to build a faster, sexier Boxster; a V8-powered Carrera, a four-door Carrera or a new, entry level sports car? Please? For now, despite anticipated earnings of $35.20 per share, despite nine consecutive years of profits, shareholders and Porsche fans are asking the same question about the Cayenne: is it too little too late? Or too much?

Rolls Royce has finally unveiled their ode to excess: the new Phantom. After pleading with their PR department, I reckon I could learn German between now and the time they'll lend me their land yacht. But everything I've read indicates that Rolls' new owners have finally done what their former stewards failed to do: build a proper "gentleman's" luxury motorcar.

No surprise there. Even a brief examination of a 7-Series' fit and finish indicates that an Anglo-German alliance was the only way to restore Rolls Royce to its rightful place at the summit of sumptuousness. The Japanese would have made the Phantom as reliable as an atomic clock. The French would have given it Gallic flair. The Americans would have given it, um, a Ford engine. But the Phantom's success was never going to be measured by its ability to avoid mechanical mishap, or delight the aesthetic sensibilities of rappers or architects. To reclaim its rep, the new Roller had to combine German tactile precision with English opulence.

Mission accomplished. The new Phantom incorporates everything the Germans know about build quality (perfect panel gaps, infinite noise suppression, silky-smooth controls, etc.) with everything the English know about comfort (burled wood, fragrant leather, ankle kissing carpet, etc.) and class (gargantuan dimensions, discreetly shielded passengers, etc.). Although the Phantom reconnects with Rolls' dimly remembered reputation for engineering excellence, the fact that it goes, stops and steers like a car, rather than a drawing room on wheels, is merely a bonus. The style is the thing.

Again, the Phantom collaboration was a no-brainer. German cars are precision instruments that lack soul. English cars are charismatic icons that lack mechanical precision. Put the best bits together and you've got a sure-fire winner. BMW tested the concept during their short and abortive ownership of England's Rover Group. Although the Rover 75 didn't set the world on fire, its elderly buyers will attest that it was one Hell of a motorcar. The 75 proved that two wildly dissimilar auto-making traditions could create synergy.

If you doubt that such nationalistic clichés still apply in these days of platform sharing, multi-national car companies, simply compare the Anglo-German Phantom with its deadly rival, the all-German Maybach 57.

Start with model designations. German manufacturers have traditionally turned to alpha-numerology to give their variants identity: SSK, 507, M3, Z8, 996, etc. These model designations create deep emotional resonances for petrolheads, but do little to engage less maniacal buyers. English automakers have always understood that in the beginning, there was the word. "Ah. Here comes my Phantom now!" has far more oomph than "Ya, here is coming now my 57." It's the difference between "something illusionary or visionary" and "something 573cm long". It's the difference between English romanticism and German efficiency.

The visual contrast between the two products is equally stark. Well, the 57 is stark. The Phantom is lush. The Roller looks like an enormous sedan morphed with a stately home. The Maybach looks like a stretched S-Class morphed with a suppository. The Phantom is fashioned entirely out of bold design cues, from the massive cowcatcher front grill to the glittering boot badge. The Maybach is made entirely of aerodynamics, from its fish-faced front-end to the horizontal taillights. You don't need to see either of these luxobarges looming in your rear view mirror to guess which one has more "character".

The interiors diverge along similar lines. Although both the Phantom and the 57 are as long as two MINIs, the cabin proportions vary significantly. The Phantom divides the front and rear appointments more or less equally, striking a very English balance between personal space and potential intimacy. The Maybach is heavily biased towards the rear passengers. Though faultless in execution and materials, it's a clinical, cavernous enclave. The Phantom is welcoming, where the 57 is accommodating.

The divergent philosophies are typified by the Maybach's rear speedometer. You might say that only a German passenger would fully appreciate a constant, objective indication of velocity, but I couldn't possibly comment. Suffice it to say, the Roller boasts Teflon-coated umbrellas embedded the rear doors. Sense vs. sensuality? Put it this way: the sound of the Phantom's partition sliding into place would probably suggest that something very pleasurable was about to occur. The same sound in a 57 would probably signal the start of an evil conspiracy.

So what does this £240,000 (plus extras) shoot-out teach us– aside from the fact that the new Phantom is set to kick the Maybach's not inconsiderable butt? The Phantom's distinctly British personality undercuts the argument that global car making inevitably stifles national expertise and cultural expression. Even when national brands work together, it's their differences make that them stronger. It also proves that BMW can take the Roller out of Britain, but they can't take the British out of the Roller. Thank Gott.

Porsche has received a lot of criticism for building a truck. The New York Times, America's 'newspaper of record', recently weighed in. They ran an article pegged to a Porsche owner so disillusioned by the Cayenne's appearance you half expected him to run his 911 into a wall. If that wasn't enough to depress Porsche's stock price (it was), USA Today revealed the company's claims that they'd sold the Cayenne's first year's production run were a tad misleading; the assertion was based on 'expressions of interest' rather than deposits.

Of course, the pundits and purists are right: Porsche has no more business building an SUV than McDonald's has serving burgers by candlelight. So what? Once the novelty wears off, Cayenne sales will wither, profits will dip, and the company will return to basics. They'll build something small and sporty that enthusiasts will lust after with hormonal fury. They did it in the 80's with the Boxster. They can do it again. At worst, the Cayenne will turn out to be an expensive distraction, a bizarre footnote in the company's illustrious history. Other German manufacturers will not be so lucky.

Hello? Has anyone noticed that Mercedes, BMW and the Volkswagen Audi Group (VAG) are making the same mistake as Porsche on a truly colossal scale?

Porsche gets it in the neck for building an SUV, but Mercedes makes a pseudo mud plugger and that's OK. Huh? Once upon a time, a company called Mercedes Benz built luxury cars. Not Elk aversive city runabouts. Not German taxis. Not teeny tiny hairdressers' playthings. And definitely not off-roaders. Mercedes' luxury cars were revered, and rightly so. They had peerless build quality, innovative engineering, classic design and superb ergonomics. The dealers treated you like royalty.

Then Mercedes divided into two tiers: S and E class. Then they added the C class. At that point, even Merc mad aspirational consumers noticed that the 'lesser' cars weren't quite as bulletproof as their upmarket equivalents. Showrooms lost their Swiss bank atmosphere and became frantic Mediterranean bazaars. Still, sales exploded. Mercedes took this as their cue to build anything and everything they could think of, including something stupid called a SMART, and a truly dreadful, American-made SUV.

In the process, the Mercedes brand lost its reputation for quality and exclusivity. In fact, the brand has become so devalued that Mercedes themselves abandoned it, reviving the Nazi-friendly Maybach marque for its top of the range limo. Now that Mercedes has morphed with Chrysler, the company is busy proving that the average of something good and something bad is something mediocre.

Of course, BMW also builds a truck. The X5 may be the world's best soft-roader, but you'd no more call it 'The Ultimate Driving Machine' than you'd call an M3 'The Ultimate Snow Plow'. Just like Mercedes, BMW has widened its remit to include all manner of brand strange products. The Z4 is certainly better than the Z3, and the Z8 is marginally better than walking, but what is BMW doing building sports cars? Isn't that Porsche's job? Meanwhile, The Boys from Bavaria are busy crafting a new 6, 8 and 1 Series, as well as entering the supercar and MPV markets. Can all of these machines be ultimate drivers? Nein.

In a similar rush to fill every market niche known to man, VAG is also sacrificing its brand identity on the altar of corporate megalomania. The company's relentless expansion has blurred any distinction between its two marques. The 'People's Car' company now builds expensive luxury sedans (Phaeton), while its luxury sibling builds down-market city cars (A2). The company competes against itself in all markets save one: off-roaders. And wouldn't you know it, VW's Toureg is more expensive than Porsche's Cayenne S.

A rising tide lifts all boats. A sinking one will eventually leave these German brand excursions high and dry. Again, the small, privately owned Porsche will recover from its adventurism with relative ease. The big boys won't. Witness Cadillac, the gigantic, once-proud luxury marque that squandered its good name on all manner of crap cars. It has taken Caddy more than thirty years to reclaim its heritage. As a result, Cadillac is reporting the largest unit growth of any luxury manufacturer operating in the American market: 13%.

OK, a lot of that's down to sales of their SUV. But the Escalade was a much-needed bridge back to their home turf, not an end in itself. The company is currently working on a car to take on the Mercedes S-Class. Unlike their Germans competitors, Cadillac is – finally – at the end of its brand prostitution phase. When General Manager Mark LaNeve was asked if the renewed marque would build a low-end model, he revealed the lessons learned. 'I want high school kids to dream of owning a Cadillac. I don't want to produce a car they can actually buy.'

I recently read the official "preview" of the Continental GT. It was catatonically comprehensive, written in the stuffy style one associates with one's Bentley. From the outset, the anonymous PR flack claimed the new GT would bring Bentley ownership to "a wider audience of discerning enthusiasts than ever before." Considering the magazine that printed the puff piece, it's hard to argue the point.

"Makes and Models" features Japanese cars that have been tuned into a caricature of their former selves, and glossy pictures of young women who've suffered the same fate. The Bentley GT position as M&M's cover girl (along with a non-functional Nissan Skyline R-32 and a shot of four "models" obscuring a race-ready Marcos) is proof positive that Bentley no longer depends on port-swilling gentlemen racers for its survival. These days, nouveau riche "Bentley Boyz" are the "discerning enthusiasts" on whom the company's future depends.

Seriously. Just before the Germans invaded Crewe, American black street culture rescued Bentley from oblivion. When rap virtuosos like Puff Daddy (later P. Diddy) recorded odes to their Bentleys, and displayed them in music videos, the British manufacturer's overweight, over-powered, over-priced luxo-barges acquired unimpeachable street cred. At a stroke, Bentley drivers were transformed from white capitalist swine into ethnic exponents of cutting edge cool. Safe!

But not from the Germans, who seem genetically predisposed to turning small manufacturers' unreliable yet fashionable cars into sleek chic jet aircraft. Even a glance at the GT's spec sheet reveals a hugely over-engineered machine: 500+bhp twin-turbo W8 engine, four-wheel-drive, under floor petrol tank, multi-link rear axle, air suspension, Electronic Stability Programme, Emergency Brake Force Distribution, etc. The resulting performance will certainly appeal to well-heeled pistonheads, but what of Mr. Diddy's fans, friends, followers?

M&M's interest certainly augers well. Any car that can compete with Elizabeth Ewald's Spandex hot pants has got to have some serious street cred. Equally important, M&M hails from southern Florida, a region devoid of corners and infested with speed cops. Car buyers feel free to purchase an automobile based on nothing more than its pose value. If the hi-tech GT appeals to drivers who have about as much use for four-wheel-drive as a motorcyclist, it's bound to earn the affections of America's technologically blind style victims.

That said, M&M is a bit… white. So the question remains: will the more culturally influential Brothers take to the GT?

The answer may come from The Source, a monthly bible for hip-hoppers. In its pages, Funkmaster Flex writes a column for on whips (cars) called "Drive Buys" (I swear). According to Mr. Flex, Bentleys are as deeply unfashionable as the rapper Ice-T. "Bentleys were big," Mr. Flex asserts. "P. Diddy kind of pushed that trend. But now they're definitely played out. The hip-hop world and young kids in general are coming back to American cars."

Need proof? Listen in as Mr. Flex asks Baby, "CEO" of rap group Big Tymers, about Bentleys…

"I'm just done with that luxury sports car European thing. I did that. A few years ago, I was a nigga comin' out the projects, Flex. A nigga who never had nothing, so a nigga got to try on a Bentley. I had five different Bentleys at the same time. And don't get me wrong, I'll do it again if I feel like that's what a nigga wants to get into. That ain't no thing…

"Fuck them ol' Bentleys and Lamborghinis, all that ol' foreign shit. You can pull into the neighborhood and nobody knows what the fuck it is. Meanwhile, I can pull up right next to that nigga in a stocked-out, candy-kitted Cadillac and the whole hood will light up."

It may not sound like typical focus group feedback, but Bentley ignores Baby's comments at its peril. Which means they're in peril. According to the PR piece, Bentley aims to reach its new customers "through strategic alliances with other luxury non-automotive companies, organising joint activities and promotions, highly-targeted direct marketing and Internet activity."

Somehow, I don't think mail merging with hip-hop record labels is what Bentley has in mind. I don't expect a GT to form part of Flex' "Celebrity Car Show". Nor do I anticipate the company adding a Bentley link to www.funkmasterflex.com.

Which is a shame. By aiming their marketing efforts at the usual multi-automobiled, performance-crazed Euro-snobs, Bentley is turning its back on the very people who could give–have given– the marque the post-modern gravitas it needs to compete in the increasingly crowded £100k+ supercar field.

Funny thing is, it might happen anyway; the street may still claim the GT as its own. After all, P. Diddy, Baby and friends found Bentley, not the other way 'round. Mr. Flex might unleash his Team Baurtwell car conversion crew on a new GT in spite of Bentley, not because of them.

Why do car manufacturers still feel compelled to drape female flesh over their show cars? If I wanted to ogle underfed women with thousand yard stares, I'd go to Harvey Nichols, not the British Motor Show. Not only does the practice fly in the face of one hundred years of women's liberation, it detracts from the cars. Like most male enthusiasts, I find a close encounter with a well-formed motorcar exciting enough. It's difficult to focus on the true object of my affections when confronted by a scantily clad girl trying to look friendly without encouraging actual intercourse.

I'm sure the sexual intimidation is intentional. Everyone is well aware that Motor Show babes know less about cars than a Congolese banana grower. An army of midriffs, breasts and legs protects the PR Flacks from punters' probing questions about new gear ratios and the wisdom of clear indicator lenses. The girls also provide notoriously competitive (and male dominated) car manufacturers with yet another arena for establishing bragging rights. To wit: "Did you see the Nissan stand? Lousy cars, great tits."

Despite the gradual infiltration of women into the auto industry, despite a growing respect for female customers, motor shows remain resolutely unreconstructed. If anything, the totty factor is getting worse. Only the smallest makers, such as Noble Moy Automotive and Lotus, offered breast free zones for their car-mad customers. Some, like Peugeot, have toned down and themed their car babes' outfits. Others, like Volkswagen, try to disguise the inherent sexism by dressing their women in executive mufti and placing them behind bunker-like reception desks.

Sorry. No matter how posh the fabric, no matter how subtle the non-product placement, motor show hotties remain sexist window dressing.

The big players have recently raised the game, showcasing celebrity squeeze. From a marketing point of view, the logic is as daft as it is inescapable. Rover's Atomic Kitten photo op was supposed to create a subconscious link between their cars and the nuclear felines' poptasticness. The epileptic explosion of flash photography greeting the girls actually proved little more than one good whore deserves another. It was almost as bizarre as Ford using Kylie Minogue– a singer appealing to 12-year-olds, gays and ass-oriented middle-aged lechers– to glamorise its thoroughly dated and ungainly city car.

You could almost forgive Rover and Ford for their crass exploitation of the female form. The former sells downmarket motors redesigned for boy racers, and the latter currently carries more debt than Paraguay. But Audi? You wouldn't expect carmakers that sell interiors so dour they make funeral homes look cheerful to send show-goers an automotive mammogram.

And yet, there it was: British singer Jay Kay sitting on an A8 next to "top society model" Lisa Butcher. While Mr. Kay's well-known love of Ferraris and Lamborghinis may lend Audi's latest luxo-barge a bit of much-needed performance cred, Ms. Butcher's low-cut and kinky leather ensemble naturally lead the imagination towards the rear seats. Let's face it: once you're going down that road, you might as well rent a proper limo. Unless you like to mix plastic with aluminium, buying an A8 would be a needless extravagance.

The car stand slut thing indicates just how stale motor shows have become. Once upon a time, before television, car magazine proliferation and the Internet; car shows delivered real suspense. These days, enthusiasts have seen all the new models from every conceivable angle, and in motion, long before they fork over their inflated entry fee. The only thrill left is seeing a cherished model "in the flesh"– a buzz only true diehards can savour.

Ferrari's contribution to the British Motor Show exemplified this new reality, albeit inadvertently. Their cost-saving stand showcased a spinning black Enzo. The car was perfectly lit, raised and tilted for maximum visual access. And that's it. No brochures. No girls. Niente. Short of surrendering the keys, it was all a car nut could ask for. Even so, given the size of the NEC and the scale of the motor show experience, less is not enough.

It's depressing that the industry has failed to rise to the challenge of reinventing the car show genre. The Dolly Birds are a symbol of the rot. By continuing to rely on tits and ass to attract customers to their stands, manufacturers show a staggering lack of imagination. The skimpy, skin-tight girls are a cheap and mock cheerful way to avoid having to do anything innovative with the actual product or its presentation.

There are a few encouraging signs of life. MINI staged an impressive display of automotive stuntery that kept the focus firmly on their product's agility. But it remains to be seen whether manufacturers and show organisers will re-invent the entire genre to avoid its extinction. Forums? VR? HDTV? One thing is for sure. Unless teenage boys are the car show's future, it's time to send the car geishas packing.

The Advertising Standards Authority (ASA) recently ruled on an ad showing a Mazda 323 Sport against a blurred background. The caption read, "Why Keep Up with the Jones's When You Can Overtake?" The ASA ruled that the ad "glamorised speed" and "condoned fast driving". They directed Mazda to withdraw the ad, and told them not to do it again.

The text of the Authority's adjudication clearly states that Mazda consulted their Committee of Advertising Practice Copy Advice Team before running the ad. The ASA also accepted that the ad's main message was not about speed. They agreed that the photograph did not suggest that the car was breaking the speed limit, or being driven recklessly.

So how did Mazda violate section 48.3 of the ASA code, advising advertisers not to "portray speed in a way that might encourage motorists to drive irresponsibly or to break the law"? According to ASA Press Officer Donna Mitchell, the Mazda conformed to the letter of the law, but violated its spirit. "It gave an overall impression that going fast is something you should aspire to."

The ASA's decision was based on a single complaint, and a simple premise: that sexy images of fast driving have a negative impact on driving behaviour. Even the Secretary for the Committee of Advertising Practice, the group responsible for writing the ASA's rules, admits that there's no scientific basis for this argument. "I don't know of any research which links performance car advertising and accidents," Guy Parker says. "It's the fear of a link that's led to this rule."

That happened in 1995, after motor industry and advertising execs met with the DETLR to discuss the "problem" of performance car ads. Once they'd consulted with the government's road safety lobby, carmakers and ad agencies worked with the ASA to hash out the current rules. In other words, the auto industry itself is partially responsible for the advertising prohibition against equating speed with fun.

This move to self-censorship came against a background of intense pressure from the EU. Six years before the ASA code, the European Conference of Ministers of Transport passed a resolution urging member states "to regard as inappropriate any advertising whose content extols performance or power and treats driving as a sport [or] shows scenes evoking motor racing, lightning acceleration and top speeds."

Dr. Oliver Grey, Head of The European Ad Standards Alliance (EASA), says that Eurocrats were not deterred by the absence of research into the affects of advertising on driver behaviour. "Brussels is never terribly concerned about facts. They simply perceive a problem, then do something about it." Dr. Grey says UK car advertisers figured a strict voluntary code was the best way to fend off European action.

Meanwhile, the Independent Television Commission (ITC) saw fit to impose similar editorial restrictions on TV car adverts. Section 11.9.2 of their code says advertisers must not "encourage or condone fast or irresponsible driving… nor refer to speeds over 70mph… nor demonstrate power, acceleration, handling characteristics etc except in a clear context of safety." And "any references to such characteristics must not imply excitement or competitiveness."

As a statutory body, the ITC has teeth. So far, they've yanked TV ads for the Peugeot 206 GTI (showing magician David Blaine accelerating a 206 into the distance) and the Volvo S40 T4 (showing a child's fascination with speed-blurred images). As in the Mazda case, the Peugeot investigation was launched after a single complaint. The Volvo investigation was launched after 15.

Press Officer Helena Hurd freely admits that the ITC's rules aren't based on the amount of public outcry an ad elicits, or scientific evidence of its harmful affects. In fact, Ms. Hurd believes the ITC's code obviates the need for any research into the impact of performance-related car ads: "Maybe because the rules exists, the problem doesn't arise."

The ITC's code is currently up for review. The agency has consulted the motor and advertising industries on the current wording of the motoring section. No one in either camp has expressed a desire to modify the code. Once again, the people who make and sell sports cars have given their tacit approval to the prohibition against suggesting that driving fast– legally– is desirable.

The auto industry's pre-emptive Euro appeasement on this issue has set a dangerous precedent. After all, if car ads with blurred backgrounds are considered too inflammatory for impressionable readers, why should magazines or websites be allowed to use them? Why should car media like evo, pistonheads.com or Top Gear be allowed to "glamorise" fast driving? If you take the argument to its logical conclusion, why should manufacturers be allowed to build powerful sports cars in the first place?

I suggest you email your answers to the ASA, ITC and EASA at the addresses below, before it's too late.

OK, so GM's Vice Chairman, Bob Lutz, takes a tour of his fiefdom. His entourage sweeps into the top-secret room where the design department has hidden GM's future models from prying eyes. The Car Czar takes a look at a sleek machine. "What's that?" he demands. "It's the new Corvette," a minion reveals. "No it's not," Lutz snaps. At a stroke, the former Marine fighter pilot has served notice to his new troops: must do better. A legend is born. Nice story. Not true.

In actual fact, it was a simple case of mistaken identity. Lutz was expecting to see an all-new Corvette. He didn't know that the new shape 'Vette is still in development, a year behind schedule. The car he encountered at GM's skunk works was the refreshed version of the current car, the 'Vette that Chevrolet will be selling to commemorate the model's 50th Anniversary. And that's it. In other words, the car guy behind the wheel of General Motors did nothing whatsoever to alter the course of the Corvette's evolution.

This apocryphal "no it's not" story has been repeated ad nauseum by the press—until Lutz decided the tale didn't suit GM's "team" aspirations. The anecdote's popularity may simply reflect an understandable journalistic need for a bit of colour in an otherwise grey industry. But the fact that the story was allowed to circulate unchallenged for so long hints at something less savoury: the extent to which Detroit's spin doctors hold their supposed media watchdogs in their thrall.

You don't have to dig too deep to find other, more sinister examples of media corruption. To wit: a recent "get together" for the automotive media hosted by GM at the Bacara Spa Resort in Santa Barbara, California…

Over four days, a fleet of car journalists heard GM's top execs outline their plans to resuscitate the company's fortunes. Gary Cowger (President of North American operations), Mark Hogan (Director of Advanced Vehicle Development), Larry Burns (Technology Director), Rick Wagoner (CEO) and Mr. Lutz himself were all in attendance. It was, in short, an A-List affair, worlds away from industry-standard corporate charm offensive.

This particular junket had something else to separate it from the usual PowerPointery. The company brought along thirteen new models. It was the ultimate party favour for car hungry hacks: a quarter of all the new machines GM plans to introduce between now and mid-decade.

So what's the future hold for the Big Daddy of the Big Three? Are their new machines cars or trucks? Are they sexy or sensible? Do they have a Boxster beater? A Merc mauler? Wither MPV's? Are there any radical ideas for power plants or drive trains or interiors? Wassup wit da General?

Don't know. Journalists who attended the Baraca bacchanalia were sworn to silence, and then scanned by a metal detector. How many snuck in a digital camera? How many dared break the news embargo? None. How critical was the resulting coverage? Imagine a group of parents after a high school play— with children who all had starring roles. While the coverage of GM's West Coast PR-fest all outlined the company's current weaknesses, the reports simply repeated GM's plans for change. A typical piece summed up the event with the startling revelation that GM was now "on the right track". Really? If so, someone should tell GM's stockholders. The news would certainly help bolster GM's ailing stock price. No wait, job done.

This kind of duplicity should come as no surprise to anyone who attempts to monitor the car business. You don't have to accept millions of dollars of automotive advertising to know that the industry considers itself far too important to tolerate proper scrutiny. As the old saying goes, when Detroit sneezes, America catches a cold. That's where "proper" automotive journalists—critical analysts and hard-nosed reporters—tend to end up: in the cold. Out of the Detroit loop.

While there are notable exceptions to this lap doggery (including The Detroit News), the American automotive press is generally slow to submit the object of its attentions (affections?) to anything resembling investigative journalism. It takes a lot of outside agitation before safety, legislative or environmental stories see the light of day. And when it comes to the business of the business, reviewing actual product, well, I guess I've said it all before. And I'll say it again: there is an unholy alliance between the media and carmakers that stifles genuine criticism of the product.

There is only one way to clear this fug of obfuscation and remove the stench of tainted reportage: the automotive press must clean up its act. Journalists should either refuse to accept free junkets or declare their sponsor's contribution, in plain English, from the outset. They should not allow corporate representatives to speak (or show vehicles) off the record; the practice ties journalist to subject in a bond of collusion. And Editors should wake-up to the fact that hard-hitting automotive journalism is vital to fulfil their obligation to serve the readers'— if not their advertisers'—best interests.

The SUV backlash starts here. So proclaims an American billboard advertising the new MINI. It's the company's low-cost attempt to entice Yanks out of cars so damn big they can strap a MINI into the rear seats and still have room for the in-laws. Sure the MINI is a great car. But if MINI's masters thinks their pocket rocket has what it takes to extract Americans from their beloved SUV's, I've got news: it ain't gonna happen.

Get real guys. If an SUV backlash will start anywhere, it will probably start in Iraq— if and when American military action provokes another oil crisis. Should the price of gas ascend like a cruise missile off a battleship, or availability falter like a British machine gun in the sands of Afghanistan, then and only then, will American consumers abandon their SUV's. Maybe.

It would take a major macroeconomic shock to sour America's love affair with the SUV. SUVs now account for over half of all new passenger vehicle sales in the US. Even a casual survey of a mall parking lot confirms the stats: small cars are literally lost in herds of Explorers, Expeditions, Avalanches, Navigators, Durangos and the like. Which is more than a little strange. The country with more paved roads than any other landmass on Earth has gone ape shit for vehicles designed to ford streams and climb mountains.

All of which raises an interesting question: why are SUV's so popular Americans will only surrender the keys when you prise them from their cold, dead fingers?

Pundits often claim that the SUV's elevated driving position is the key to their success. Specifically, they maintain that the extra ability to see what's ahead makes drivers—especially women—feel safer. Supposedly, this height also creates a sense of superiority (a feeling not unknown to pundits). While seeing is avoiding, and no one other than the husband of a supermodel would deny that height equals dominance, the SUV's core appeal lies elsewhere. It's a matter of size.

Soccer Moms and long haul truckers alike know the truth: there's something deeply, intrinsically satisfying about driving a vehicle big enough to straddle two states. Manoeuvring that much mass at even a walking pace gives SUV drivers a God-like feeling of power that Porsche drivers rarely experience away from a track. It's like steering from Daddy's lap, except better. Is that really so hard to understand? We admire a boat captain who can make a luxury liner kiss the dock, yet many are quick to deride drivers who can swing a Ford Explorer into a school parking lot without hitting a single child.

The SUV's other great advantage is, of course, space.

Americans are big. A recent study estimates that over 50% of Americans are clinically obese. You can take a moral position on that finding, but I wouldn't recommend taking it next to an average American sitting in the back of an average European runabout. Why not hop aboard a Cadillac Escalade, settle into your Club Class seat, pop open a cool drink from a nearby 'frig, adjust your personal climate control and discuss the subject in an environment more conducive to civilised (if strenuous) debate? In a nation where more people own guns than computers, any vehicle that can keep fat-saturated, sugar-crazed citizens calm and comfortable has got to be a good thing.

And don't forget the stuff. Americans don't. They use their SUVs to tow boats, jet skis, motorcycles, bicycles, cars, planes, horses and mobile homes. If Yanks abandoned their tanks, the US lifestyle and tourist industries would be in real danger of going belly up. Sure, you could use a "normal" car to haul all that clobber from here to there, but don't forget: "the pursuit of happiness" is enshrined in America's Declaration of Independence. The bigger the rig, the bigger the load. The more toys you can schlep, the greater the potential happiness. Simple.

Obviously, such common sense will have precious little impact on those who condemn SUVs. To be fair, there's a lot to hate about the breed. They guzzle gas like frat boys draining a keg of beer. They pour hydrocarbons into the atmosphere (although a single London bus emits more toxins than 50 SUVs). They're fully capable of squishing smaller vehicles like a bug. But environmentalism and safety consciousness are not enough to overcome the SUV's basic appeal. And as long as Americans live in a free society, they'll feel free to buy the vehicle that best suits their desire for fun and comfort.

Needless to say, BMW understands this. The same people who make the MINI are busy developing another model in their own SUV range. If you're the kind of person who takes a dim view of corporate hypocrisy, the MINI backlash starts here.

For those of you on the English side of the pond, a "Hummer" is a large, wide, low-slung 4X4 built in the US of A. The off-roader first invaded American consciousness during the feature-length TV series known as The Gulf War. An Austrian immigrant (who parlayed his ability to lift heavy weights into something not unlike an acting career) led the civilian rush to transfer the H1 to the suburban theatre. GM's marketing radar detected the trend and annexed Hummer. This year, the General finally spat out a "civilian" Hummer: the H2.

Mechanically, the H2 is fundamentally similar to the military-spec H1. Both vehicles have astounding off-road capabilities. Both vehicles have been beaten with an ugly stick. Repeatedly. But what sets Hummer apart from all other American SUVs—aide from the fact that the Hummer was originally designed to help kill people—is the way GM has set out to sell the beast.

GM calls it "retail-tainment". Obviously, any concept with a name that assaults rather than trips over the tongue is asking for trouble. As Elvis said, if you're looking for trouble, you've come to the right place. Specifically, you've come to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, home of the world's first Hummer dealership. It's ground zero for GM's campaign to make car dealerships less of a battleground, and more of a theme park. Or, in this case, a battleground theme park.

Confused? Think of it this way: car dealerships haven't changed in the last 100 years. In the main, they're huge glass structures with sparkling cars and wilting ferns, populated by packs of skulking salesmen. More than thirty years after the mall-ing of America, the car industry has finally twigged that even Nazi architect Albert Speer couldn't have designed a more sterile, intimidating environment than the traditional automotive "fish bowl". The six million dollar Hummer dealership is the inevitable result.

John Horgstrom's Hummer dealership is the General's first ground-up attempt to create a user-friendly retail environment. In this case, the "fun" is "themed" on the brand's military heritage. The building was built to look like a gigantic Quonset hut, the corrugated iron shed used by the American military during WWII. You enter Hummer HQ through a gigantic letter H. Although there's no armed guard at the door to salute you, the dealer's civilian staff have a goal: to get customers into a Hummer and onto the adjoining obstacle course.

The course is where the going gets tough, and the tough buy an SUV. It demonstrates the Hummer's abilities in conditions the average SUV driver would never see outside of a TV commercial (or a Hummer dealership). It lets salesmen use their off-road driving skills to establish dominance over their customers. And it suffuses a buyer's bloodstream with sales-friendly endorphins.

The course is, in fact, the future. Providing the Milwaukee experiment goes to plan, providing GM commits to a third model line, the General will deploy 156 themed Hummer dealerships across the Land of the Free. Industry savvy pistonheads will recognize the trend. Land Rover has already experimented with on-site off-roading. Given the macho emotional investment needed to buy something so obviously inappropriate as a road-going off-roader, the "theme-ing" of the 4X4 business is bound to succeed, and continue.

"Retail-tainment" will eventually extend to other automotive genres. How long before Porsche dealerships look like pit lane garages? How long before Aston Martin dealerships become gentleman's clubs? How long before Renault dealerships morph with patisseries, offering a choice of fresh-baked croissants or half-baked Avantines? Not long. And not before time.

The move towards "retail-tainment" will generate significant benefits for both consumers and carmakers. For one thing, it will keep manufacturers focused. Hummer's huge investment in military chic will force it to stay within its suburban warrior remit. Porsche will have to choose whether it wants to sell road-going sports cars or Paris Dakar wannabees. Ford, Mercedes, BMW, Toyota and the rest will all have to figure out what they do differently than the other guy, then create an appropriate retail environment to "sell the sizzle".

Will Ford go for value for money, and create a giant automotive Tesco's? Will Mercedes create a dealership that looks like Dr. No's lair, perfect for plotting world domination? Whatever retail theme a car maker chooses for his products, the huge investment required will make it harder for them to change "brand identity". As a result, we can expect to see the birth of more specialised sub-brands (e.g. Toyota's Lexus), and more finely honed products.

As silly as it sounds, automotive "retail-tainment" represents a long overdue revolution. Old-style car dealerships are one of the most unremittingly inhospitable sales environments ever devised. It's no surprise that most people would rather go to the dentist than face the sharks cruising the fish bowl. No matter what the ultimate impact on the auto industry, anything that makes buying a car more fun than root canal surgery has got to be a good thing.

In their pursuit of world domination, The Artist Formerly Known as Mercedes Benz has lost its ability to make chronically over-engineered automobiles. In fact, Mercedes' build quality has sunk almost as fast their model range—and corporate portfolio— has risen. Where once owners delighted in a glove box lid's well-oiled precision, they're now happy when the damn thing stays closed, and doesn't fall off. Even the new SL betrays the rot; the sun visors adjusts with violent imprecision, threatening to remove owners' perfectly groomed nails. To a greater or lesser extent, every car rolling off current Mercedes assembly lines is a betrayal of their corporate heritage.

Don't get me wrong. It's not that Mercedes' standards are low, exactly. It's just that their cars aren't built nearly as well as they once were, both in absolute and relative terms. In other words, there isn't a single Mercedes that can lay a claim to their old motto "The best engineered car in the world". Taken as a whole, Mercedes models are often as good as, but never unassailably better than, the competition. Truth be told, if you want to buy a car with robust engineering that delights in both conception and operation, you're just as likely to find it in a Lexus or Audi showroom.

Mercedes didn't get to be the world largest automobile manufacturer by being stupid. (Greedy yes, stupid no.) The Sultans of Stuttgart know full well that the company's profitability depends on maintaining the three-pointed star's reputation for representing the "best" of the premium brands. And they don't need me to tell them that their rep is slipping. Resurgent low volume carmakers like Rolls Royce, Bentley and Aston Martin prove that Mercedes' death-grip on the premium market is now no more than a limp-wristed handshake. Meanwhile, mainstreamers are nipping at Merc's heels like a tireless pack of jackals, matching Mercedes car for car, X5 for ML, RS6 for CL, Zafira for A-Class.

Mercedes' response to the "quality gap" has been to build entirely new models. The strategy is the exact reverse of the one that made them a success in the mass market. The idea then: build cheaper clones that bask in the reflected glory of the well-made expensive models. The idea now: build well-made, visually distinctive and expensive models that distance themselves from the existing, cheaper range.

Hence the SLR. While I have no doubt the SLR will restore Mercedes' reputation for comprehensive engineering excellence, it's a car too far. By raising the quality bar well above the heads of the SL Club, Mercedes ignores the psychological need of its core clientele for automotive superiority. If the SL isn't the ultimate Mercedes roadster, it can't be the "best roadster in the world". And who wants second best? In that case, why not plump for something cheaper with the same (or better) quality, like an SC430? Or something slightly more expensive with a bit more exclusivity and style, like a top down Aston Martin?

Mercedes is asking for the same sort of trouble with the Maybach. While the monster limo lives in a different price universe than Mercedes' S Class sedans, the Maybach transforms S Class potentates into second class citizens. Where's MY fully reclining leather seat, big screen TV and Internet connection? If Mercedes had hived off the Maybach brand with real conviction, they might have limited the damage. But they hedged their bets, keeping the Maybach in the Mercedes family, hoping for a little "halo effect". Not so SMART, Mr. Daimler.

Meanwhile, Mercedes is making some truly risible downmarket tat. The A-Class does nothing particularly well, and a lot of things quite badly. The less said about the V-Class, the better. And what could be less Mercedes-like than a Chrysler, any Chrysler? If one bad apple spoils the whole barrel, Mercedes has more trouble than a barrel of monkeys.

Of course, what Mercedes should be doing is knuckling down to business: focusing on core brand values. They should understand what makes (made?) a Mercedes a Mercedes: fanatical attention to detail combined with engineering innovation and bulletproof build quality. It must be quality you can see, feel and hear, whether you're a driver, passenger or mechanic. Mercedes should invest in this extra quality knowing it will cost the consumer a bit more, but not mortgage money more, than the competition's product. They should advertise their achievements, and have faith that the punters will reward their corporate investment with long-term loyalty.

Mercedes should attack the quality issue on all existing fronts, rather than opening up new ones. The SLR and Maybach should be cut loose from their corporate parent, to live or die on their own merits, in their own retail space. In short, if Mercedes can't make the best car in the niches that really matter, they shouldn't bother.