Sitting in the new Toyota Prius, I suddenly blurted out, “Open the pod bay doors, Hal,” half expecting something to happen. Alas, I was still entombed in the resin chamber that passes for an automobile interior. If Ralph Nader had been an engineer, this is the car he would have designed, a vehicle for people who loathe automobiles.

Forget, for a moment, that we are behind the wheel of a Ferrari, and possibly the best mid-engined road Ferrari in history at that. Forget the scenery, which is beautiful, and the road, which is slick with rain and therefore rather difficult to forget. Forget the speed, which is, frankly excessive, and forget the Mustang ahead of you, swelling in your windshield at a that’s-no-moon-it’s-a-space-station pace. Take a moment and listen.

As an Elvis fan, I have to say that the singer created an enormous body of completely unlistenable music. The Hollywood years are particularly execrable, generating as they did an entire canon of crap. In the same sense, Volvo. In recent history, the American-owned Swedish automaker has unleashed a range of vehicles that did little more than remind us how far the iconic brand has fallen. For example, Volvo’s minivan, which—oh wait. They didn’t make a minivan. Right. Volvo’s XC SUVs arrived late, with the wrong engines, with a rep for tank-like build quality and unimpeachable reliability that was only obvious by its absence. Ditto Volvo’s sedans. And now, Volvo’s ’68 Comeback Special: the XC60.

Every race must have a winner—even if it’s a Seniors Olympics, where competitors battle with oxygen tanks in tow. In this case, it’s Yank tanks: our American large luxury car shootout. Those of you with a knack for the process of elimination will already know that the Cadillac DTS is our winner. On the face of it, the Caddy doesn’t have the power or charisma of the Chrysler 300c, nor the traditional rear wheel-drive layout of Lincoln’s boxframed Town Car. But the DTS brings a much-needed karmic balance to our comparo. It’s he only car that approaches luxury. In other words, it offers at least a week’s worth of livability for an actual owner.

TTAC writer Samir Syed was on the lamb last night, cooked by yours truly. To honor the dead sheep’s spirit, Sam brought by a rented Ford Mustang GT. For some reason, I never got ’round to driving Ford’s latest Pony Car, what with the world’s largest bankruptcy looming on the editorial horizon and my step-daughter’s after-school activities ending for the term. Anyway, the car in which I was about to go roaming in the gloaming embodied its designers’ desire to re-infuse the ’Stang with some understated classicism—while attempting to add a bit of visual drama (swage much?). Other than a hideously overwrought rear, there’s nothing particularly wrong with the result. Not to put fine a point on it (so to speak), the new Mustang doesn’t give me wood. Still, personal fertility and automotive blue pill issues aside, there are plenty of reasons to be cheerful.

Three’s a crowd: an odd grouping where someone or something is always going to stick out. Think Holy Ghost. The third wheel. The Sesame Street “which one of these is not the same as the others” object. In our Yank Tank match-up, the Lincoln Town Car fell by the wayside, pilloried for its utter lack of anythingness. Which is also, strangely enough, it’s strength. We’ll get to the Cadillac DTS tomorrow. But as some of our Best and Brightest have already pointed out, the Chrysler 300C is the one that doesn’t fit.

Top Gear fans know that Europeans treat large American cars with contempt. Although they love our finned Cadillacs and suicide door Lincolns, they view modern “Yank tanks” as large, thirsty, ill-mannered dinosaurs that only escaped extinction thanks to government-sponsored petrochemical profligacy and car buyers’ lack of environmental awareness, taste and brains. With American car companies struggling for survival, with entire U.S. car brands disappearing, this criticism begs a question: has the Yank Tank finally met its comeuppance? Price aside, can America produce anything to compete with BMW’s mid-sizers (never mind their luxury flagships)? To answer this burning question, I tested a trio of America’s finest luxury cars for a week each; the Cadillac DTS, Lincoln Town Car and Chrysler 300c. First, the standard to which these cars should aspire.

The sun breaks through trees and plays off the long bonnet. As I loaf along the arrow-straight road, I absorb the soundtrack: the baritone exhaust note of the big-bore, long-stroke, inline-six. Ahead, I spot that sign that makes every true driver shut down the internal dialog in their brain and focus on the here and now: Winding Road. Amazing what a sign can do to lift one’s spirit. In a Jaguar E-Type, elevation quickly becomes ecstasy.

Eight years ago I was looking at the exact same speedometer in a Honda Helix scooter. No joke. The speedo in the Helix and Insight are absolutely one and the same. Now most of you may not know what a Honda Helix actually is. Fair enough. It’s a very large scooter that can go 70 mph, get 70 mpg, and puts you in a near recliner position when on the road. Honda happily made them for 20 years. The Insight? Well multiply the Helixes $5000 cost by five and you pretty much get all that and the most fun to drive hybrid on the road today.

From the 1970s to the 1990s, Honda earned a reputation as the most technically innovative and ecologically sensitive Japanese automaker. Honda introduced the first hybrid to the American market. Unfortunately, its rep for green tech leadership took a big hit when the original Insight, an EV1ish tear-drop-shaped two-seater, was totally eclipsed by Toyota’s Prius. Hybrid versions of the Civic and Accord did little to stem Toyota’s PR gains. For 2010, Honda has introduced an all-new Insight hybrid. Does this car have a shot at ending Toyota’s dominance of the green car mindscape?

Despite constant evolution, the BMW Z4 has always been something of an enigma. Quality issues, cabin constraints, questionable styling, not-quite-there handling, dubious tire choices and premium pricing have all bedeviled the sports car—although not all at the same time. Far be it for me to suggest that this lack of synthesis had anything to do with production in South Carolina. But it is strange—and a little reassuring—to know that this next gen Z4 is made in Regensburg, Germany. Less comforting to those of a sporting bent: it’s grown in width, length, wheelbase and weight. Once again, Mazda Miata lovers looking to upgrade need not apply.

Dante Giacosa’s original 500 was an industrial design master class for mobilising Italy’s poor after the war. Fiat’s nuova 500 springs from no such noble sentiment; it is meant to convince the foccacia buying classes there is an alternative in the baby premium market to the ubiquitous neue Mini.

Conceived in a desperate search of EPA credits, the Ford Escape has walked in the shadows of its bigger brothers, Explorer and Expedition. Despite the Escape’s loveless upbringing, it prevailed, providing easy cream on Ford’s SUV gravy [train]. In the last fuel surge, the Escape found favor: a future president escaped his Chrysler 300C for a gas/electric version of the venerable Fordette. In the ongoing clamor for right-sized, fuel efficient vehicles, one would think the Escape’s inner virtue would shine through. Instead, Ford stifled its middle child by birthing a clusterf*ck of overweight CUVs (Edge and Flex). For 2009, the Escape, again, eats from the scraps.

Audi is pitching its late-to-the-party Q5 against Lexus’ recently refreshed RX350. Audi’s ad men would have you believe that the Q5 buyer is making a forceful statement of individuality and taste—in contrast to the RX buyer’s safe, boring, follow-the-herd mentality. It’s a strange play during these times of economic certainty, but understandable. The Q5 is preaching to the choir. The majority of the Q5’s buyers will come from within the brand’s established audience, who consider Audi’s products the automotive equivalent of an Armani suit. Which makes the Q5 yet another fine young cannibal, preying on whatever sales the Q7 may have generated and stealing business from the gotta-have-an-A4-on-stilts crowd. Hang on. Whose product line is this anyway?

Driving the Chevrolet HHR sent your humble author into a massive 1980s flashback; no drugs required. The Japanese car supply/demand imbalance during Paula Abdul’s Laker Girl days meant any Japanese model could find a market, regardless of merit. One of the least meretricious was the Isuzu I-Mark; a car so relentlessly non-descript that boredom was primary safety hazard while driving one. Twenty years later, that particular strain of car flu, automobilis mediocritas, has mutated and infected the Chevrolet HHR, turning it into one of the dullest transportation appliances of the twenty-first century.