When I saw a mustard-colored Bentley GT rocketing towards my all time favorite highway exit, I knew lunch was served. Paddling from seventh to third and pressing go, I closed the gap between the M5's voracious prow and Bentley Boy's behind before the adrenalin could hit my bloodstream. As we entered the ramp, the Bimmer's heads-up display assured me I had enough rpm-age to blow-off anything that wasn't built out of carbon fiber and/or jet-powered. When the off-ramp widened for a few yards, I dove inside and dusted Bentley Boy into a fine powder. Despite my obvious, riotous supremacy, nothing changed. BMW's uber-sedan was not my friend.

Supercar scalping in a family four-door is a terrific way to kill an afternoon, but the original M5 earned its place in automotive Valhalla as the consumate all-rounder: a car that can schlep, thrash, coddle, cruise, potter and impress with equal aplomb. Make no mistake: while the M5's accelerative aggression and Nürburgring-fettled handling got the headlines, the uber-Bimmer's core appeal lay within its relatively humble origins, daily practicality and circumspect sheet metal. No other car– at any price– offered such a potent blend of ability and humility.

Call me an oxymoron, but I don't get the whole sports wagon thing. Fast wagon, sure. Hey kids! Watch Daddy wipe the smile off that smug bastard in the baby car. But "sports wagon" clearly implies high-speed cornering. Centrifugal force has this nasty habit of upending juice boxes, sending toys into black holes and making protective mothers scream with homicidal fury. I'd like to say BMW's 325xI Sports Wagon (SW) is an ideal high performance load lugger for lifestylers who don't share my domestic concerns, but I can't because it isn't.

The 325xI Sports Wagon's basic proportions look promising enough for wagon-loving corner carvers– should enough of them exist to establish a consensus. Although it's a fair distance between the front and rear wheels, the SW's overhangs could double as window ledges, and the car itself is athletically compact. Or not. It's hard to tell. Thanks to BMW's kooky "flame-surfacing", their 3 Series five-door's perceived size depends entirely on the viewing distance, the angle chosen and the amount of time spent staring at the thing. Taken as a whole, the flat-nosed SW says "road rocket" like a pepperoni pizza says "dessert."

An electrical relay sitting in the front windscreen's rain gutter. Headliner that looks like mouse fur. Soft touch plastics that aren't. If you look closely at the new BMW 3-Series you'll see considerable evidence that Mercedes isn't the only German brand cutting corners at the low end of their lineup. But there's a difference: BMW says they let the whole obsessive compulsive construction thing slide so they could enlarge the 3-Series' performance envelope whilst holding the line on postage. In other words, they amped-up the driving dynamics rather than sweating the small stuff.

The new 3's helm justifies the justification. For far too long, BMW has pandered to America's [alleged] predilection for steering with all the feel and feedback of a Novocained bicuspid. Now, finally, The Boys from Bavaria have installed a rack-and-pinion tiller that rewards elbow grease with information. Whether you're giving it some mid-corner or jinking around a Volvo, the wheel tells you where you are in the pivoting process and what's happening underfoot. It makes driving, wait for it, fun. (Anyone who opts for Bimmer's anesthetic– I mean, active steering system loses all pistonhead privileges.)

When BMW designer Chris Bangle first unleashed his version of venerable 7-Series in '02, the oddly angular "flame-surfacing" inflicted upon the plutocrats pride and joy was roundly criticized for not being round enough. At the same time, the overly-complex iDrive mouse controller iDrove customers nuts. Although Bimmer's brand cachet helped maintain the 7-Series' showroom momentum, the new, "refreshed" 7-Series was designed to right those wrongs and restore the natural order.

And so the Seven's sheet metal has returned to slab-sided safety. Gone too are the peculiar Dame Edna wraparound headlights and the gi-normous, protruding back end bustle. The hood has been re-sculpted as well, giving the car's nose a somewhat flatter, more balanced appearance. Otherwise, Bangle's art school over-indulgence has been replaced by, of all things, blingery. Xzibit A, B and C: the larger kidney grill at the front, the concave seven-spoke wheels and the more tightly gathered rear bumper (designed to show off the 7's wider rear track). The overall effect is extremely color-sensitive and a bit schizo: Bad Boyz meets Bavarian burghers.

The M3 CS is one of those rare cars that makes you change your driving habits. Grasp its suede-effect steering wheel and you find yourself in a single-minded pursuit of corners. You hunt for wiggly arrow road signs like a lion searching for a wounded Wildebeest. You scan for curving off-ramps that lead to… curving on-ramps. You waggle to your destination as if you're trying to shake a bad guy. Sure, the 333hp M3 CS can obliterate a straight line. But it's a reverse scuba diver at heart. It lives for the bends.

The CS in question stands for "Competition Sport". It's the performance-enhanced version of the performance-enhanced version of BMW's venerable 3-Series. It's also the last hurrah of the current M3 before the new model, based on the latest generation 3-Series, inspires fresh reverence and awe. To pump-up the volume on the M3's Swan Song, the CS option package adds 19" wheels and tires, dramatically bigger brakes, a faster steering ratio (14.5:1), a less intrusive handling Nanny, aluminum interior trim and optional Interlagos Blue paint. Oh, and $4000.

I swear I've haven't clipped a curb in decades. And yet there I was, cutting in front of a line of traffic in the great Rhode Island tradition, when I heard the muffled whump of the 645Ci's rear tire cresting concrete. It's not the kind of sound you want to hear when piloting a $70k "Ultimate Driving Machine"– if only because it makes you seem a lot less than the ultimate driver. Not guilty. I blame mechanical foul play.

Firstly, the 645Ci is a hard charger. The moment your right foot touches the go pedal, every one of the coupe's 325 horses stampedes towards the horizon. That may not sound like enough horsepower to make you lose your bearings, but by God, it is. Thanks to a stepless intake manifold, double VANOS variable valve timing and other Bavarian black arts, the 3781lbs. luxobarge steams to sixty in a scarcely credible 5.5 seconds. More importantly, it strains to do so at every possible opportunity, to the point where the traction control idiot light sends out a steady stream of Morse Code.

The instant you fire-up BMW's new 645Ci, a chime buried deep in the dash rings out. "BLING!" In fact, it does it twice: BLING! BLING! Point taken. From its backlit kick panels, to the chrome "eyelids" over the kidney-shaped grills, to the gigantic wheels and tires filling massive, flared arches, the 645Ci boasts more street style than a Bronx block party. The hard-top 6 seeks a home with BMW's traditional Euro-snob consumers, but the drop-top 6 wants to chill on the driveway of one of MTV's crib-tastic celebs.

And why not? Forget all that wind-in-the-hair BS. Anyone who's actually owned a convertible knows the genre is an open invitation to sunburn, sunstroke, earache, deafness, bad hair and (lest we forget) decapitation. Convertibles are all about posing. A $76k Bimmer cabriolet is, by its very nature, a technological tour de force. But it don't mean a thing if it ain't got that bling.

Like I said, the 645Ci is all that. A large part of the car's gangsta chic is down to BMW's infamous "flame surfacing": the exterior style currently afflicting the 5 and 7-Series. This time it works. The 645Ci's farrago of bulges, curves, creases, cuts and canvas is so odd, so utterly different depending on the viewing angle, even jaundiced car reviewers find themselves staring in silent wonder. Sure, the design will date faster than a theoretically divorced Brad Pitt. Meanwhile, the 645Ci's eye-candy street cred reigns supreme.

If onlookers somehow manage to miss the point, just press the roof button. Mercedes may have invented the flipping, turning, rotating and stowing tin top routine, but the 645Ci's canvas version is no less impressive, and you get a heated glass window that pops back up to [slightly] deflect unwelcome wind. How dope is that?

So why is the 645Ci's cabin as austere as a monk's cell? iDrive. The universally reviled mouse controller replaces the ever-mounting array of switches and dials needed to control a luxury car's festival of toys, which leaves… nothing much. BMW's designers have made ample use of this nothing much, spreading it around the cabin evenly, blending it with black plastic, leather and brushed aluminum; to no appreciable effect whatsoever. No props to them, then.

Hopefully, BMW will extend its "Individual" program to the 645Ci. Discerning buyers could then bling-up their convertible Beemer with, say, orange leather seats, a champagne leather dash and piano-finished black interior trim stripes. Given the 654Ci's funereal functionalism and the drop-top driver's need to show off, even the oddest choices are bound to make perfect sense.

You may have noticed that I haven't said a word about what it's like to drive the 645Ci. So here's the word: numb. Numb steering. Numb gearbox. Numb chassis. Numb brakes.

I've got nothing against numb cars. Mercedes originally earned my affection by building luxury transportation so completely devoid of sensation you felt as if you'd beamed yourself to your destination. But times have changed; even Lexus offers drivers a dose of road feel (albeit highly filtered). You'd hardly expect BMW, self-proclaimed provider of the "ultimate driving machine", to create a car that harkens back to the glory days of brain-dead luxo-barges.

The 645Ci's engine adds to the sense of disappointment– because it's so good. The 4.4-liter V8 is a bit sluggish (numb?) at low revs, but once it inhales a proper hit of gas, it's like rousting a lion with a pointy stick. Thanks to a 'variable-effect resonator' in the exhaust system, the soundtrack switches from contented purr to demented roar, and the 645Ci leaps into action.

Zero to sixty takes six seconds – not bad for a car weighing over two tons. The company claims their all aluminum powerplant gets the job done with just 325hp, but I'd swear The Boys from Bavaria are hiding an extra 50 horses somewhere. Again, you've got to stoke the engine above 3600rpms to gain access to maximum shove (330ft.-lbs. of torque), but once you do, you'll be glad you did.

Until you come to a corner. The weird thing is that the 645Ci actually corners quite well. Its Active Roll Stabilization system tightens-up the big Bimmer's roll bars on the appropriate side to create astounding poise through the curves. But there's no joy in it. Remote control steering, stiff run-flats and a no-motion chassis makes it nearly impossible to judge what the car is up to at any given moment. If you don't switch off the handling nanny, the only indication that fun's out there – somewhere – is a sudden and dramatic loss of engine power.

And there you have it: a posemobile that's sexy, fast and dynamically dull. If you're a wealthy buyer who enjoys "stunting" and "flossing", or are prepared to learn what that means, the 645Ci is your ride. If you like driving, your Porsche awaits.

There's a sticker in the new BMW 5-Series that tells you everything you need to know about the mid-sized motorcar. This permanent post-it, affixed just beneath the infamous iDrive controller, has a tiny arrow pointing left and the words "Climate, Air Dist. and Vent Temp".

Before iDrive, BMW drivers adjusted the vent temperature with a small wheel between the vents. This easy-to-use function was originally created and sold as a safety feature; cold air on a driver's face aids alertness. With the new 5-Series, not only do you have to be computer literate to cool your fevered brow, but you have to take your eyes off the road to do it.

First, you push the iDrive controller down to release BMW from corporate liability. Then you nudge the controller left to select "Climate". A hieroglyphic appears. Twist the knob for the correct function, press it, twist it, look up to avoid oncoming traffic, look down, press the iDrive mouse again and… I think I've made my point. Which is simply this: BMW's new 5-Series is a deeply conflicted automobile. It still aspires to be "the ultimate driving machine", but it no longer knows how.

There are signs of struggle are obvious from first glance. Much has been said about the strange "bustle" protruding from the 5's trunk lid. But focusing on this jarring detail ignores the wider conflict. Designer Chris Bangle has tried to graft sporting intent onto a deeply conservative, highly evolved shape. It doesn't work. His "flame surfacing" (a pretentious phrase for a wild amalgamation of swage lines, creases and indentations) is the art student's equivalent of a tuner's macho side skirts and spoilers.

Sure, the 5-Series now looks aggressive and interesting, but it doesn't look right. There's simply too much going on, too much needless affectation, from the car's curiously feline headlights to its bulbous bum. Bangle's quest for sporting modernity is neither true to the brand nor attractive in and of itself. As strange as it sounds, the new Acura TL, a 5-Series knock off, does it better.

I would love to say that the car's driving dynamics make up for these deficiencies. Unfortunately, the test car came with Dunlop SP Sport 01 DSST tires and BMW's new-style variable-assist power steering. The former are 18" run-flat tires while the latter electronically alters the steering ratio according to your speed. The combination produced such vicious tram lining I thought the tires were worn out. They weren't, but I was, fighting a never-ending battle to keep the car pointed in a straight line.

I realize the gravity of that statement. Accusing a BMW sports sedan of darting around like a skittish horse is like calling a Rolls Royce cheap and cheerful. So I stopped by my local BMW dealer to test drive a 530i with "normal" steering and tires. The bread-and-butter alternative offered suitably meaty steering feel and perfect straight line stability. Great, but since when does BMW sell a sports package that degrades the base model's ride and handling? About the same time they decided to sell a car with a manual gearbox that's both rubbery and notchy. BMW claims the 530i's six-speed has a "precise athletic feel". Sure, and championship wrestling is "superb athletic competition".

Don't get me wrong. Somewhere underneath this farrago is one Hell of an automobile. The 530i Sport corners with minimal body roll and exemplary poise. Its 225hp powerplant is a bit sluggish at low revs, but once it crests 2500rpms the double-VANOS system kicks in and away you go. The silky smooth in-line six has enough grunt to propel the 3461 lbs. mid-size sedan to 60mph in a fraction under seven seconds whilst achieve 30 highway miles per (US) gallon of dead dinosaur (credit the overdrive sixth gear).

I have no doubt that the 530i Sport would offer something akin to a rewarding driving experience if it came equipped with some proper sports tires, an automatic gearbox and standard-issue rack-and-pinion steering. Of course, that would still leave the stupefying iDrive and flame-broiled design. And the fact that the switch that raises and lowers the rear window shade is now on the driver's door, while the central door lock button has moved to the center of the dash. Amongst other things. Anyway, you may have guessed by now that I'm not a great fan of the new 5-Series. Still, I'm willing to re-consider my position once Bimmer's bad boy M-division lowers a 500hp V10 into the 5's engine bay. As any muscle car owner will tell you, massive acceleration can cover a multitude of sins. Even then, I'll still be worrying about this brand.

Unless and until the Boys from Bavaria get back to basics, its future is in jeopardy. Creating understated cars that stay true to the company's driver-focused creed is BMW's ultimate challenge.

The ultimate pie-eater's car? You're walking down the street, minding your own business. For once, you're not thinking about cars. Suddenly, you hear it: a low frequency, menacing rumble. The sound bounces off nearby buildings and hits your synapses like a football drilled into the back of the net. It's the burble. For a red-blooded pistonhead, the thrill created by a proper barrel-chested burble is irresistible. Involuntarily, your head swivels to identify the machine producing this mechanical siren song. It's a… BMW?

C'mon. TVRs burble. Old-fashioned muscle cars with engines that burst from their bonnets like biceps through The Incredible Hulk's shirt, burble. Well, so does the BMW M5. From the moment you turn the key, the 400 horsepower M-power plant burbles with as much conviction as a Shelby Cobra. The M5 may look like a mildly tweaked version of BMW's bread and butter barge, but it isn't. Anyone with ears knows this car is a serious piece of kit.

Even though Bracknell's perfectly prepared X5 4.6is dosed me with the usual 'new car narcotic', it didn't take me long to notice the difference between my regular set of wheels and BMW's top-of-the-range off-roader. Compared to an M5, the X5 4.6is' ride is like surfing down an endless mountain of irregular sized rocks on a tea tray. The X5's rock-hard suspension and 20' wheels transformed the smallest road imperfections-slight dips, tiny ruts, minor repairs and fractional changes in the paving surfaces-into 'events'. My partner called the resulting sensation 'road turbulence'. As her barely legible notes reveal, the incessant bone shaking was a major distraction.

Don't get me wrong. I know the value of a rock-hard suspension. I've driven a Nissan Skyline GTR V-Spec at speed. But c'mon, we're talking about an X5. A 'normal' (i.e. non-Sport) X5 is one of the world's most comfortable cruising machines. Perched imperiously above traffic and/or vegetation, nestled into its spacious, serene, superbly appointed cabin, owners waft along without a care in the world. There's enough metal and mod cons to cosset all who nestle within. Sure, the beast wallows a bit in the corners. And yes, even the 4.4 litre petrol-powered model could use a tad more power, but don't be churlish. If you're in no great hurry, an X5 is a perfect place to wile away the hours spent going from here to there.

As I lowered myself into the new BMW 7-Series' micro-perforated, climate-controlled, buttock massaging passenger seat, I noticed that my diminutive driver seemed a bit, well, lethargic. He had the half-lidded laid-back look of the seriously pampered. Not what you'd expect from a professional race driver about to hurl 1945kg's of somebody else's luxury car around a racetrack. One chicane later and I shared his complacency. The new 7-Series can be driven at maximum velocity with no more drama than an episode of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. Which is to say none at all, then a bit, then not at all. Hell, you could phone it in.

Or perhaps not. That depends on whether or not you know how to remove the sim card from your mobile phone. To use the 7's on-board telephony, you have to extract your sim card, open the phone drawer, take out a tiny plastic holder, fit your sim card into the holder and insert the holder into a small slot. Then, and only then, you can you use BMW's detachable 'portable' phone, or the new iDrive controller, or wheel-mounted buttons, or a separate (and miniscule) keypad, to phone a friend. I don't think the police would call the process 'hands free'.