Americans sometimes joke that Canada is the fifty-first state. In some ways, it's true; our landscape is the northern part of the US blown up like Bullwinkle at Macy's parade. The journey from one end of Ontario to the other is roughly equivalent to crossing five US states. If Canadians followed the American rationale– drivers need wafting monster machines to keep their sanity on long treks– there'd be an Escalade in every driveway. Yet Canadian SUV and truck ownership ratios are miniscule compared to that of their southern neighbors. In the main, we opt for more frugal and environmentally-sound transportation. Hang on. There's a lesson in there somewhere…

Canadian car culture– or lack thereof– is one reason our nation doesn't favor inefficient and inappropriate vehicles. We love our cars, but we're not "in love." A Canadian would never write a song like "Route 66;' a paean to the Trans-Canada Highway during a January blizzard would only scare its listeners. Roadside diners are the dens of long-haul truckers, not shrines to the open road celebrated in movies like Thelma and Louise. Don't get me wrong: there are plenty of pistonistas north of the 49th parallel; custom Civics and classic Mustangs abound. But a healthy (if stubborn) kind of pragmatism dominates Canadian car buying. Even sports cars are bought with city potholes and snow in mind.

Canadians also don't accept the idea of car as automotive armor. We're a cold country, but there's no SUV Cold War, where vehicles get larger to protect against larger and larger vehicles. We're too mellow to engage in this automotive arms race. According to the US Department of Transportation, aggressive driving contributes to two-thirds of fatal crashes. Studies show that Americans are several times more likely than Canadians to die in a crash. Do the math. We've got time.

Perhaps most importantly, Canadian car owners have more consumer choice than their southern neighbors. If Canuck drivers want something more than a no-frills supermini, but smaller and more affordable than a boat, options abound. How about a Smart fortwo? Laugh all you like at its golf cart looks, but a Smart is a stylish, comfortable and well-equipped machine whose owner laughs last when his weekly fuel bill costs as much as a fast food combo meal. We had the Yaris long before you, and Toyota didn't have to call it a "liftback" to make it more palatable to smallcarophobics.

Canadians who crave a posh ride can buy a compact as comfortable as your Ford Explorer. Acura, for instance, sells an upscale version of the Honda Civic called the CSX. It's faster than a stock Civic, but the running costs won't make you weep like a fuel-hungry BMW. Mercedes also sells their B-class "sports tourer" (read: upscale hatchback) that delivers C-Class roominess in a smaller, more fuel-efficient package. In all these cases, you can get leather seats, premium audio and navigation without having to crush everyone in your path or sell your soul to the oil demons. In short, you don't have to buy a trendy hybrid to enjoy sensible, environmentally sensitive motoring.

It's true that most of these cars are also available in Europe. However, unlike Europeans, Canadians don't have to buy one because a larger car is scary on a narrow side street or they can't afford the tax-inflated fuel costs. Canadians buy these sensible machines because they do what they want them to do– including delivering enjoyable driving dynamics– without wasting petrochemical resources or space. Why shouldn't Americans be encouraged to think the same way?

Car manufacturers operating in the US claim that the market won't sustain stylish small cars. In truth, it's a classic chicken-and-egg argument. How are Americans supposed to get excited about small cars when their primary purpose is to help manufacturers meet their average fuel consumption targets? The Canadian market tells us that there's another way: give people small, stylish, fun-to-drive cars that they'll actually want to own, and own them they will. The MINI proved the point.

It's time that US consumers realized that having long highways doesn't mean you have to wax poetic about the journey or traverse them in barge-sized cruisers. You can switch to a smaller car without being smashed into a guide rail. You can be practical without losing creature comforts. We Canadians know these facts already. We reap the benefits every time our smaller cars avoid a crash or pamper us with luxury and lower fuel bills. If our friends to the south would only catch up, we'd soon see a more socially responsible mix of vehicles on both sides of the border.

When Ford unleashed their new Fusion late last year, the American automotive press raved. Car & Driver's Csabe Csere predicted that the front-wheel drive sedan will "truly put Ford back in the car game." Road & Track's Matt DeLorenzo declared the Fusion was "Just the recipe for shaking up the midsize car market." Automobile said "Ford is serious about kicking its way back into the mid-size-car business." No wonder The Blue Oval is pleased with the Fusion and continues to advertise the car heavily. Strange, then, that the Mexican-built sedan was not the product that wore the mantle of the first financial quarter's "best selling Ford passenger car." That honor belongs to the Taurus.

Sorry, I should have said "belonged." That's right: the swoopy Taurus is finally dead. After 21-years on the showroom floor, despite outselling the Five Hundred and Fusion– combined– in the last quarter, The Blue Oval has pulled the plug on its ageing family four-door. The last retail unit has left the Atlanta assembly line. The final fleet car will disappear any day. It's the end of an era for American-built Fords, and a vehicle that was the best-selling US passenger car from '92 – '96.

Ford claims Taureans have/will migrate to the smaller Fusion or the slightly larger Five Hundred. Maybe they did, maybe they didn't. Maybe they will, maybe they won't. Even if you discount fleet sales (so to speak), Ford's Taurus replacements don't seem to be picking-up the slack or setting the sales charts on fire. Is it possible that buyers preferred the Taurus to Ford's best and brightest? If so, that's a sad commentary on the current state of Ford's product development process. It also tells us– if not Ford's management– how to build a popular sedan.

When it was launched in '85, the Taurus was a ground-breaking car. Ford's sleek, freshly-designed Taurus boasted a stiff chassis, a choice of V6 or I4 engines, optional ABS brakes and a practical, comfortable interior. The Ford faithful flocked to the sensibly-priced motor, at a time when Ford flockers were nowhere to be seen. Many credit the model's sales for saving FoMoCo from an ignominious slide into insolvency. There's no question that the Taurus helped Ford recover valuable market share and delivered profits that allowed the company to develop other, even more profitable vehicles, like the Explorer and Expedition.

The Taurus' stellar success sparked a number of books by Ford "insiders." While the accounts credit various Ford designers, engineers, managers and marketeers for the model's triumph, there's a common theme throughout the narratives: innovation, risk-taking and, most importantly of all, commitment. Author Mary Walton's "Car" chronicled the development of the second generation Taurus (which debuted in 1996). She reveals that the Taurus program managers' mantra was "beat Toyota". Their goal wasn't "equal Camry", or "come close to Camry", but 'beat Camry.' Possunt quia posse videntur. (They can because they think they can.)

Enraptured by SUV sales and profits, the Taurus slowly slipped from Ford's mind. After the second-generation Taurus– whose launch in '92 marked the model's zenith at 409,751 sales– Ford's mainstream motor failed to keep pace with the Camry. While Ford jelly-beaned the shape and revised the mechanicals, Toyota subjected the Camry to a regular, ruthless and relentless series of mechanical and sheetmetal upgrades and refreshes. The Taurus fell further and further behind, until it was no longer Ford's signature car or profit center. Finally, when even Ford could see that the SUV craze had begun to peak, the company realized that their ageing warhorse had fallen too far behind the competition to save.

Ford spent huge amounts of time and money to create the Taurus' theoretical replacement. The Five Hundred is built on Volvo's SUV platform; it's both longer and taller than the Taurus. This sedan's extra cabin room and "SUV-like" elevation were supposed to be the new model's key selling points. Buyers stayed away in droves. The underpowered Five Hundred is just a little too big. The Mazda6-based Ford Fusion arrived to hit the sweet spot. Alas, the fine-handling Fusion seems just a little too small for American sedan buyers. In retrospect, the Taurus was a Goldilocks special: perfectly sized for middle America's taste and budget.

Billy Ford should have the last Ford Taurus placed in the lobby of his company's headquarters. The final "new" Taurus would serve as a fitting tribute to a model that helped keep the lights on during some of FoMoCo's darkest days. The Taurus could also serve as a stern warning to Blue Oval product developers: develop the products we already have, as well as they ones you think people want. If not, both our products and our company face the same extinction shamelessly inflicted upon this worthy machine. I'd also suggest the following inscription: there are old cars and there are bold cars, but the best cars are old, bold cars.

According to Alfa Romeo's website, Henry Ford used to doff his hat whenever he saw an Alfa Romeo pass. More credibly, the Italian automaker claims Enzo Ferrari cried like a baby on the day his race cars finally beat Alfas'. Yes but– Alfa Romeo's distinguished portfolio of elegant motor cars and racing heritage may be glorious beyond compare, but that history also includes ignominious defeat. In 1995, after selling just forty-four cars to [long-suffering] American enthusiasts, Alfa withdrew from the US market. And now, once again, the company that gave Dustin Hoffman's graduate his getaway car wants back in.

Emboldened by Maserati's North American comeback, reinvigorated by GM's $2b payoff, corporate parent Fiat believes that the Alfa Romeo brand is finally ready to launch its own US re-invasion. Initially, Alfa plans to sell and service a small range of vehicles through some of its 40 former American dealerships and most of Maserati's current US franchisees (recently liberated from the Fiat's Ferrari dealers). Fiat management refuses to commit to a timetable for the move, which has been postponed three times since 2003. Rumor has it we could see Alfas stateside by late '07. But is there a seat at the table for Alfa? Where does today's Alfa fit in the world's largest automotive marketplace?

The American car scene has changed a great deal since the mid-90's. Generally speaking, American automotive consumers have divided into four distinct camps: truck-lovers, horsepower-mad pistonheads, reliability fanatics and mileage-seeking tree huggers. Whether it's 5000lbs. towing capacity, 500bhp, five-year warrantees or 50mpg, all four market slices are well-served by all the major manufactures; from Ford's sublime F150 and Explorer, to DCX' brawny behemoths, to Honda's legendary Accord, to Toyota's frugal Prius. If Alfa Romeo thinks it's in a position to compete with distinction in any of these categories, they may be about to proven wildly, sadly mistaken.

Alfa's press release promises Americans the Alfa 159, Brera and Spider. Judging from the lineup's sporting orientation, the company is taking aim at US automotive enthusiasts. Again, it's a crowded market filled with highly-skilled, deeply-entrenched competition. Honda, Mazda, Nissan, Pontiac and Saturn all offer sexy mid-market drop-tops. BMW's 3-Series owns the $30K sport sedans (where Alfa's Quadrofoglio once struggled). For more than a decade, Infiniti and Lexus have failed to knock the Bimmer off its perch. What hope does a newcomer have?

Alfa may have a peerless racing pedigree, but Americans are notoriously uninterested in such things. If mainstream US buyers think Italian sports car– and that's a big "if"– they think Ferrari; followed, perhaps, by Maserati. Alfa's adrenalin-oriented image builders will have to start from scratch– with front-wheel-drive cars whose relatively small engines are not likely to tempt US power mongers. As for the reliability side of the equation…

Alfa's build quality, fit, and finish may have improved since their departure, but their cars will have to overcome a great deal of residual distrust. Many Americans have vivid memories of Alfas that fell apart mid-route and/or rusted into thin air. What's more, Alfa will be facing some of the world's best-built products (thank you Toyota) in a litigious country (God Bless America) that expects a long, comprehensive warranty (kudos Hyundai) and distinctly non-Italian levels of customer service (all hail Lexus). In short, Alfa will have zero wiggle room for excessive panel gaps, condescending or indifferent dealers and the odd failure to start– especially in the all important $20K-$40K segment.

As for the "green" angle, Alfa's decision to leave its econoboxes and diesels on the other side of the pond pretty much takes them out of the running in that category. In short, there's only one way the Italians can possibly hope to compete in the US. It's the same way Jaguar manages to stave off oblivion: style.

If anything is going to drive customer to Alfa, it's sex appeal. Alfa's management's decision to restrict its US dealers to the company's most comely performance cars is a tacit admission that Alfas will have to trade almost entirely on their looks. It's also no coincidence that Alfa's relaunch will coincide with the '07 debut of their elegant new GTV and Spider. (Eventually, Alfa Romeo will bring forth the drop-dead gorgeous 8C Competizione.) It sounds crazy, but it just might work. All of these cars possess enough easily-identifiable Italian flair to attract automotive alphas who want to stand out, or simply distance themselves from Bangled excess or Japanese invisibility.

In fact, America needs Alfa Romeo. A healthy infusion of Italian style could be just the thing to wake-up risk-aversive US and foreign car designers, to lead them away from their bland, cookie-cutter sheetmetal, to push them towards a more artful and dramatic aesthetic. In fact, were they alive (and kept away from each other's throats), I'm sure Henry Ford and Enzo Ferrari would welcome the competition.

[Gunnar Heinrich publishes <a xhref='http://www.automobilesdeluxe.blogspot.com'>automobilesdeluxe.blogspot.com</a>]

Last year, GM unveiled a funky retro-styled vanlet called the HHR (Heritage High Roof). Although the HHR has generated some much-needed action on Chevrolet dealers' lots, the vehicle's character and genesis is an ominous sign that all is not well within GM's product development process. For one thing, the HHR is a bin-engineered clone of its competitor, the PT Cruiser, designed by the same man who penned the Chrysler. For another, there was a five-year gap between the PT and the Me-Too. In other words, when it comes to creating products for the US market, General Motors is dim, cheap and slow.

To be fair, GM's current vehicles are generally 80 to 90% as good as the class-leading benchmarks. TTAC readers might not choose a Pontiac Torrent over a Honda CR-V, but there's nothing wrong with the Pontiac that automatically disqualifies it from consideration. Right now, that is. A few years down the road, things start to get ugly. When it's time to update a product– not just adding new options and colors, making significant mechanical and cosmetic improvements– GM has been known to let a new vehicle slip seven years or longer between refreshes. In contrast, The General's foreign competition is fully committed to a five or six-year product cycle. As a result, GM's products are falling further and further behind, until they become obsolete. For example…

GM introduced its first J-car, the Chevrolet Cavalier, in March 1981. Eight years later, the Cavalier and its platform-sharing partners (Firenza, Skyhawk, Sunbird, etc.) received curvier styling and some mild mechanical tweaks. Meanwhile, the competition moved in. The third AND fourth generation Honda Civic beat the J-cars first redesign by a year. Six years after that, GM finally unleashed a J-car update. The following year, the sixth generation Civic arrived. Even with a year's head start, GM had managed to put out just two redesigns against Honda's five. Fleet sales and other discounts soon damaged the J-cars so badly GM abandoned the entire model-range. The new Cobalt enjoyed just one year's grace before another new Civic blew it into the weeds.

The story of GM's minivans is even more depressing. GM entered the market in the late 80s with an innovative design (pre-Saturn plastic panels) and fancy Italian styling. Unfortunately, the four-cylinder engines made their vehicles slow, the design made them weird (dust buster) and the architecture was too narrow. Five years after introduction, GM finally ditched the plastic panels and funky nose, and fitted a better engine. Seven years passed before GM's next "update": a literal nose job, without any significant engineering improvements. Buick and Saturn were added to the fold, offering GM customers four variations on a narrow minivan with ten-year-old mechanicals.

Before GM's first minivan update, Chrysler "jelly-beaned" their people mover and added another door. Once again, Chrysler's product began to dominate the sector. Between the later two GM updates, Honda introduced, and then updated, their superb Odyssey. Honda scooped the cream of the segment from Chrysler, Chrysler was forced down market and GM was relegated to the fringes. More instructively, Toyota arrived on the scene in 1990, flopped spectacularly, tried again after eight years with an all-new vehicle (the Sienna), tried again after five years of minor success (with another total redesign) and then, finally, gained traction in this highly-profitable segment.

Toyota's tenacity highlights another problem with GM's product updates. Unless a vehicle is very successful or very unsuccessful, The General tends to hold off on expensive redesigns. With GM's [overly] extensive distribution chain, an "adequate" vehicle can sell for years. Unfortunately, these ageing vehicles aren't very profitable. Equally important, the non-competitive products are highly unlikely to tempt their competitors' customers, denying GM the conquest sales they need to gain– or maintain– vital market share.

GM's updates also tend to be far less comprehensive than their competitors'. They'll change the shell and maybe the engine (usually for another old pushrod). Remember: an 80% refresh of an 80% car creates a car that's only 64% as good as its more advanced alternative. By contrast, Toyota and Honda are ready, willing and able to change anything up to and including an entire vehicle platform– and still manage to beat GM's update by one or two model cycles. The end result of GM's lethargy is a car in need of a complete re-build (and usually a new name).

Designing and improving cars is hugely expensive. Given The General's current cash crunch, there must be enormous pressure for product developers to cut corners wherever possible. As it is, the endless procession of eighty percent vehicles and too-late refreshes is sending GM's market share into terminal decline. Remember that the Chevrolet Cobalt and the Saturn Relay were designed when GM was flush. Imagine what will happen if they have to skimp.

My automotive odyssey began in a Ford Pinto. I didn't need Ralph Nader to tell me that The Blue Oval's first sub-compact was a death trap. The Pinto was so nasty on so many levels I'm surprised it didn't spontaneously combust in shame. Then again, why would it? Ford had no shame. Like the rest of the Big Three, their greed, arrogance and incompetence handed the small car market to the Japanese. As far as I can tell, nothing much has changed in the last 35 years. Once again, gas prices are squeezing cash-strapped motorists. Once again, domestics don't have a compelling answer. And once again, Toyota does: the Toyota Yaris.

Do without any optional frills (power windows, remote keyless, a radio) and an autobox Yaris Liftback will set you back about twelve large. If the repo man has never darkened your drive and you have a grand to put down (or are willing to also do your own shifting), payments are within spitting distance of $200. That's to own the car, not a lease with a phone book's worth of fine print. And not just any car, but a brand spankin' new, made-in-Japan, everyone's-sister-knows-it'll-never-break Toyota. A Hummer driver spends twice as much just to keep the tank topped off. Speaking of which, you get over 35 mpg in a Yaris, with a three-year bumper-to-bumper hakuna mutata.

Mitsubishi Motors is on the ropes. US sales are in the basement. Aside from the new Eclipse and the niche-market EVO, they haven't got a winning product in sight. A line of forgettable sedans and me-too SUVs does not a viable car company make. DaimlerChrysler's decision to pull the plug on future financial aid doesn't bode well either. In fact, Mitsubishi is knocking on the door of bankruptcy. Desperate times call for desperate measures. It's time for them to build a "real" pickup truck: a Mitsubishi Freightliner.

Despite the recent surge in gas prices, the US pickup truck market remains relatively robust. And even if it's contracting slightly, the profits aren't. The average profit on a pickup is $13,000 per unit. No wonder Nissan threw their hat in the ring with the Titan, and Toyota's promising all-new Tundra is due out next spring. Mitsubishi's entry, the Raider, is a badge engineered Dodge Dakota, but not nearly as memorable. It has some of the right stuff, including a V8, but cowers in the darkest corners of the marketplace, ignored and little missed. To make the grade and mint some money, Mitsubishi needs a full-size competitor to the Ford Super Duty.

Despite its connection to DaimlerChrysler, Freightliner isn't doing so well. Demand for their medium and heavy trucks has been soft for some time. Their foray into vans, the re-badged Mercedes Sprinter, is aimed at a narrow market niche– a niche that's even narrower now that there's a Dodge-badged Sprinter. But Freightliner's reputation as a maker of tough trucks is undiminished. Their Century Class trucks set new standards for comfort and luxury in heavy truck cabs. Freightliner's Sterling (formerly Ford) trucks are probably the most efficient and durable medium and heavy trucks on the planet.

Mitsubishi and Freightliner should pool their resources and build a new, heavy-duty, full-size pickup truck, designed to compete head-to-head with Ford's Super Duty. Freightliner has the design and engineering capabilities to create the truck. The Mitsubishi version could be sized and optioned like a Ford F250HD and F350, and the Freightliner version could cover the F350 and F450 range. Make sure it's big enough, has all the truck amenities and a really aggressive front end, and buyers will flock to the showrooms. A real Freightliner for the price of Dodge imitation? Hard to resist.

Freightliner doesn't make engines, and Mitsubishi doesn't have an engine suitable for a large truck. As we've discussed here before, there are plenty of first-rate American parts makers who can feed aspiring automakers suitable components. Freightliner is a major customer of Cummins. The new Mitsubishi Freightliner could run on the same Cummins diesel engine used in the Dodge Ram. Alternatively, Navistar (International) has developed a new 4.5-liter V6 diesel for Ford's F250– that The Blue Oval abandoned. Navistar has the engine and the plants to build it, but no customers.

"All Diesel, All the Time" would be a great marketing slogan. Mitsubishi could be the only company with a line of all-diesel trucks. A buyer could get a truck capable of F350 performance with the gas mileage of a gasoline powered F150 and the ruggedness of a Freightliner (at no extra charge). A tie-in with the bio-diesel business could make buyers feel good about driving a huge pickup truck, and wrest the green crown from Toyota. (Tundra pickups belch greenhouse gasses in a big way.)

Freightliner and Mitsubishi each have a suitable marketing channel for the truck. Freightliner could offer the product to fleet buyers who need a pickup to complement their semis and/or delivery trucks. Buyers could have the truck financed and serviced by the truck professionals at any Freightliner outlet, where employees know the commercial truck business inside out. No more hanging out at the Ford dealer waiting for mechanics to finish changing the oil on a minivan before getting to your work truck. Freightliner could also market a truck chassis in this class to motor home and ambulance builders; a market that's currently locked-up by Ford.

Obviously, Mitsubishi's distribution channel caters to the average consumer. Since most pickup trucks are sold for personal use, a Mitsubishi dealership would be a logical place to offer a Freightliner pickup truck for the masses. The presence of an attractive full-size truck would act as a halo vehicle, bringing buyers into the showroom (most for the first time) to see Mitsu's other offerings. A premium truck would also have a premium margin for both dealer and manufacturer, something both companies need desperately.

The US automotive market is in flux. Only those companies willing to consider new ways of doing business are going to survive. Will Mitsubishi and Freightliner see the next decade? That could very well depend on whether or not they realize that a problem shared is a problem halved.

Way forward. Bold Moves. Screw that. If America wants a bold, innovative car, they'll buy a Toyota. If they want something honest, inexpensive and comfortable, they'll buy a Ford. If they want an honest car with added spizzarkle, they'll spend a little more for a Mercury. Well, that's how it used to be, until Ford started building sub-par Japanese wanna-be's. Thankfully, the Blue Oval offers at least one rear-wheel drive automobile that stays true to the company's roots: the Mercury Grand Marquis.

Park the Grand Marquis next to its foreign counterparts and it's clear that the American luxobarge ain't livin' large no mo'. Snout-to-tail comparisons with a Camry require measurements smaller than a foot; millimeters differentiate their relative heights. Fortunately, the Marquis' ping-pong table hood and aircraft-carrier rear deck survive into the new millennium, while its broad shoulders continue to evoke memories of Officer Badass. Although the Marquis' police-a-like shape sends shivers down the spines of Boy Racers, the car's basic design is wildly inoffensive. This despite a new-for-'06 schnoz that blends-in about as well as a Speedo-wearing fat guy in Sports Illustrated's swimsuit issue.

Anyone remember Buick? You know; "doctor's car", big, expensive, highly-styled, just this side of a Cadillac? Well, today's Buick is going head to head with… Hyundai. No really. Even Hyundai's website knows the truth. It compares their new Azera Limited to a Buick LaCrosse. And here's the really strange part: the Buick kicks the Azera's ass. This triumph would be all well and good for GM if anyone was actually buying a Buick, but they aren't. At last count, on average, each Buick dealership sold eight new cars per month. Eight. Something's very right here, and something's very wrong.

Let's look at that comparison again. At $25,535, a Buick LaCrosse is cheaper than the $27,495 Azera Limited. That's almost two grand less than the import before you begin bargaining with the dealer (So Ricky… how many new Buicks did you guys sell this month?). And don't forget that GM sweetens the deal with 2.9% financing. Or how about Buick's flagship, the new Lucerne? At $25,990, it's still about $1500 less than the Hyundai. The Lucerne has features Hyundai hasn't even thought of (yet): rain-sensing wipers, heated washer fluid, OnStar, etc. The Lucerne also has a much larger cabin and the quietest ride this side of a casket. And portholes.

Some buyers might choose the pricier Hyundai for its mileage. Wrong answer. The Azera Limited's EPA rated mileage is 18mpg city, 27 highway. The LaCrosse clocks in at 20/30. That's 11% better fuel efficiency across the board– despite the fact that the LaCrosse is the bigger car. The even larger, more luxurious Lucerne (remember?) scores an EPA rating of 19/28, besting the smaller Hyundai by 5% city and 3% highway.

So why is Hyundai thriving and Buick on the ropes? Hyundai knows who they are. They have a marketing philosophy that works. Simply put, it's "$5000 cheaper than a Toyota and almost as good." (Hyundai offers a warranty to paper over the last part of that slogan, but since few new car buyers keep a car more than a few years, it's more of a security blanket than anything else.) The Korean automaker's product development hews strictly to the company's narrow mission, generating cars that support the underlying "brand proposition." Everyone knows what a Hyundai is. The result: a solid and growing customer base.

Part of Buick's problem is that they are saddled with the dead hand of GM marketing. Buick, like most GM divisions, has forgotten who they are and what they are about. The result is unfocused product development, bewildered dealers and, eventually, a cataclysmic drop in market share. Buick sales have fallen over 80% in the last 20 years. The only other major US make that's done worse is sibling division Oldsmobile, whose sales have fallen 100%.

Buick's loss of focus began in the '70's, when they started marketing versions of the Chevy Nova and Monza. Neither of these cars looked or acted like a Buick. A series of nondescript X, A, and J cars followed, all wearing the Buick nameplate for no discernable reason. Eventually, GM forgot what a Buick was. Toyota stepped into the breach with the Avalon and Lexus ES300. Honda jumped in with the Legend. Within a few years, the US market was flooded with cars that were better Buicks than Buicks.

To reverse this slide, the Buick brand must discover, or rediscover, its identity. There is a precedent for building better Buicks, an archetype: the Roadmaster. Reincarnated in 1992, the Roadmaster generated sales and solid profits through 1996. Big, solid and comfortable, the four porthole Roadmaster's sales were limited by capacity some years. Unfortunately, the Roadmaster died when its platform mates– the Chevrolet Caprice and Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham– bit the dust.

"Less bling than a Cadillac" worked for Buick once, it would work again now. The current Lucerne, built off a Cadillac platform, would be an excellent place to begin the Buick brand's renaissance. The Lucerne's understated elegance makes the Cadillac DTS look, well, flashy. To strengthen the claim, Buick would have to ditch bargain basement six-cylinder Lucernes and make every example a V8 (and a four portholer). And/or what about a Buick muscle car?

Meanwhile, the LaCrosse should quit trying to be Buick's Taurus. Again, Buick needs to move slightly upmarket. Ditch the smaller engined, low-buck versions, make a V8 standard, and build on the car's design excellence, reliability, and quality ratings. Market the car as a small Lucerne, and buyers will come.

"Less bling than a Cadillac" once made Buick #3 in US sales, and a solid contributor to GM's bottom line. Eight-cylinder engines, Dynaflow transmissions and lots of portholes helped, but Buick's success was based on solid marketing fundamentals. Buick knew what kind of cars to build, and how to market them to aspirational Americans. "Cheaper than a Hyundai" just won't cut it.

What's wrong with Ford and GM? In the face of shrinking demand for their core vehicles, The Blue Oval and The General are disgorging an endless stream of new products without rhyme or reason. This is the American market. It's supposed to be an American game. Yet time and again, Detroit's giants have misread the temper of the times, unleashing all-new products that flop, forcing them to scrap expensive models and start again. It's time for all the stopping and starting to stop.

Examples of Detroit's endless game of one-two-three red light are both bountiful and pitiful. For example, whatever happened to the bulbous Taurus? Where is America's favorite family sedan these days? It's been replaced by the Ford 500, a bland, underpowered vehicle whose customers are lined-up none deep. By the same token, the Ford Focus is a terrific little family car that could compete with the new Honda Fit, Toyota Yaris and Nissan Sentra. There's even an improved version in Europe, ready for federalization. But no, Dearborn has hung the Ford Focus out to dry, presumably in anticipation of its eventual unrelated replacement.

And what of the once-proud Lincoln brand's answer to the BMW 5-Series: the LS (Luxury Sport)? Despite the positive media buzz, despite selling over a quarter-million vehicles in six years, Ford let the model languish without major improvements– and then canned it as part of their "Way Forward" plan. In fact, there is not one single Lincoln you can look at and say, yes sir, that's a Lincoln! GM's Pontiac division is in the exact same position. Everything in their lineup is entirely new and connected to absolutely nothing in the company's past.

Detroit's corporate culture shoulders much of the blame for this automotive ADD. Long before John De Lorean hitched his wagon to the Pontiac GTO and Lee Iaccoca rode a Mustang to the top, Detroit's corporate culture rewarded execs tied to "winners" and punished anyone involved with "loser" vehicles. Improving an existing model, adding a few more percentage points to the sales charts, puts auto execs on the fast track to nowhere. Launching an exciting new hit guarantees a key to a corner office. While there's no profit in releasing an endless series of dogs, the suits are addicted to gambling their careers on quirky new models. SSR? XLR? Fusion? Freestyle? No thank you.

Contrast this with BMW's evolutionary approach. When The Roundel introduced its hideous 7-Series, complete with an unfathomable iDrive multi-media controller, even the normally subservient press slated the luxobarge. And yet BMW stood by the latest generation of its flagship and slowly, gradually, improved it. iDrive was simplified. The extreme sheetmetal was gently smoothed. At the same time, BMW maintained its program of regular engine upgrades, added features, continued a relentless, behind-the-scenes attack on quality control issues and kept on marketing the car. It's that kind of single-minded, single model dedication that keeps 7-Series sales growing, and protects BMW's from marketplace vagaries.

Clearly, the Germans "get it;" they appreciate the over-riding value of consistency. Consider the Mercedes-Benz S-Class. In the '80's, the W126 was Germany's answer to Rolls-Royce; 80% as grand and 100% more practical. There was no finer luxury sedan on the road. Subsequent decades saw an inverse developmental algorithm: as the S-Class evolved to new technological heights, it declined in quality and substance. Even so, by maintaining the model's lineage– selling the grandeur that was with the technology that is– dealerships can't keep the latest W221 S-Class long enough to sign the import papers.

Master chameleon Toyota understood the concept from the start. They knew that design evolution equals brand recognition, mechanical evolution equals customer satisfaction, and keeping a conquested customer is far cheaper and more profitable than getting a new one. In 1989, Lexus launched the LS400 as an upstart alternative to the Mercedes-Benz S-Class and BMW's 7-Series. Despite criticism for its bland design, despite German counterattack, Lexus never wavered from its commitment to its flagship. Today, most Americans consider the LS as cut from the same hide as its European competitors.

Ford and GM should face facts. They should 'realign' their corporate culture and stop chasing niches in search of "the next big thing": crossovers, convertible pickup trucks, pseudo-minivans, etc. They should plough all their resources into what they've got and get on with it. The truth is, there's no quick fix in the car business. There's only an endless pursuit of customer loyalty. The vast majority of customers want to be brand loyal. Unlike Detroit's ambitious execs, they want to chose once, choose wisely and stick with it. As long as Ford and GM continue to focus their energy on short-term product solutions, the Detroit monoliths are condemned to playing catch-up. It's a fruitless endeavor that ultimately produces nothing but mediocrity.

[Gunnar Heinrich publishes <a xhref='http://www.automobilesdeluxe.blogspot.com'>automobilesdeluxe.blogspot.com</a>]

Fit. That's a good one. At the exact moment that America's obese SUV's are giving the country petrochemical chest pains, Honda invites us to get healthy. Why chug-a-lug gas and stagger around like a big-bellied lummox when you can sip petrol and sashay around town with all the moral superiority of a marathoner? OK, but getting fit involves sacrifices: unpleasant bending, less grunt, no street cred, etc. Or does it? Let's face it: the less we give up, the higher the likelihood we'll do it. Does the Honda Fit let us frugalize without fear?

Toyota is the master of the pastiche. The company's designers never met a Mercedes they couldn't morph, or a Bangled BMW they couldn't bootleg. Granted, capturing the essence of a rival's design without ending up on a hard bench outside the World Intellectual Property Organization is something of an art form. But quite what Toyota had in mind with the FJ Cruiser is hard to fathom. In one sense, they're finally getting 'round to ripping themselves off: riffing on the FJ40 Land Cruiser's riff on the original Jeep. On the other hand, anyone who clocks the FJ Cruiser's brick-like bearing and doesn't think Hummer just isn't trying hard enough– which ain't something you can say about Toyota. Ever.

From the front, the FJ Cruiser is a Lego Transformer. Funky chunky bumpers– complete with molded silver "wings"– combine with a cylindrical light assembly, swooping sides and a gun slit front window to create a mondo-bizarre snap-to-fit aesthetic. The FJ's hood– which looks like a half-submerged bomber hangar– doesn't quite work. But it's Henry Moore to the side profile's Dali-esque dissonance. The FJ's rear windows makes the SUV look like it's sagging in the middle, while the gigantic C-pillars are almost as funny (both humorous and peculiar) as the mini-flares over the rear arches. And the FJ's back end makes the full-size spare hanging on the door look like a child's inflatable pool.

For nearly two decades, the Honda Accord and Toyota Camry have been duking-it-out at the top of America's sales chart. Honda's recipe for mid-size success is as simple as it is effective: it's big inside, it doesn't cost much, it doesn't look like crap, it doesn't break down and it's worth something when you buy a new one. Yes but– to an enthusiast, the startlingly unobjectionable Accord is white bread slathered in non-fat margarine. Well it was. This year, those wild and crazy guys at Honda have decided to offer an Accord with a six-speed manual and a slightly more powerful VTEC V6. The results are pretty damn groovy.

Anyone who's shopped for a Toyota Prius knows that the gas – electric sedan comes complete with a 'hybrid premium': a theoretical surcharge included in the manufacturer's suggested retail price. Although there's considerable debate on this point, it is possible for a mileage-conscious Prius driver to save enough money at the pumps to recover the extra cost of purchasing a hybrid– eventually. But no matter how the customer makes out, Toyota still comes out on top. This despite the fact that the cost of developing and manufacturing hybrid technology– batteries, drivetrain, controls, brakes, etc.– means that Toyota makes a loss on every single Prius sold. But by losing the battle, they win the war.

It's no secret that hybrids get a lot more media attention than actual sales. Gas may be cresting $3 a gallon, but Americans still love their big cars, pickup trucks and SUV's. And while manufacturers love the profits on these large vehicles, they've all got to meet federal Corporate Average Fuel Economy (CAFE) standards. Otherwise, the automaker must pay large fines. [Since 1983, the EPA has collected $650,831,288.50 in CAFE fines from BMW, Jaguar, Mercedes, Porsche, VW and others.] The US Energy Policy and Conservation Act of 1975 currently dictates that an automaker's US passenger cars must achieve a combined fuel economy average of 27.5 mpg. The combined average for their 'light trucks' (that's SUV's and pickups) must be 21.6 mpg.

So, Toyota can sell as many gas-guzzling Tacomas, Tundras and Sequoias as they like; they just have to sell enough fuel-sipping vehicles to maintain the required fleet average. In other words, Toyota and its compliancy-seeking competitors aren't trying to make big profits on little cars; they're trying to lose as little money as possible on small cars so they can make as much money as possible on big, profit-rich vehicles. To meet the CAFÉ regs., Toyota prices their smallest models at a loss– and then adds discounts, finance deals and incentives that cost even more. Prior to the Prius, Toyota's pushed the less-than-thrilling Echo with deep discounts and heavy incentives and attractive financing offers.

Seen in this light, the Toyota Prius was a stroke of genius: a vehicle that boosts the company's CAFÉ numbers to SUV-sustaining levels AND generates enormous positive PR for the brand. Somehow, no one other than a few tree-hugging environmentalists and Chevy's PR department seems to notice that Toyota's mileage on their other products lags behind the industry leaders. The social opprobrium attached to selling SUVs that are bigger and thirstier than a Chevy Tahoe (and probably more profitable) slides right off Toyota, because they're the leaders in hybrid technology. In one brilliant marketing move, Toyota has transformed their money-losing small car operation into a priceless marketing campaign.

And yet, as always, physics trumps bullshit– er, marketing savvy. Even with Toyota's hidden subsidy, the Prius is simply too heavy, complicated, expensive and yes inefficient to quickly and easily justify its premium price. Recent media focus on the discrepancy between hybrids' real world mileage and the official EPA numbers only reveals part of the truth. If consumers considered the fact that the Prius uses every non-hybrid trick in the book to raise its fuel efficiency (de-contenting, skinny tires, lightweight materials, etc.), if they compared like-for-like (the Prius vs. a similarly equipped, same-sized gas-powered car with equivalent horsepower), they'd see that the efficiency gap between competing propulsion technologies is narrower still.

The expansion of hybrid technology into large and heavy cars and trucks highlights this conflict between political/moral concerns and plain old physics. For example, EPA numbers suggest that the hybrid-powered Lexus RX400h 2WD SUV gets eight more combined mpg's than the gas-engined RX330 2WD. But if you "downsize" the vehicles' EPA numbers to real world experience– a process which doesn't lower the RX330's fuel economy as dramatically– the difference between the two Lexi is a lot less impressive. The truth is that short of cold fusion, there's no way a heavy hybrid will deliver mileage significantly better than a smaller and/or smaller-engined gas-powered vehicle. Of course it's also true that the new hybrid SUV's are a boon to their manufacturer.

The profits on Toyota's Lexus 400h hybrid-powered SUV takes their hybrid strategy to the next level. In the vehicle's rarified market demographic, the consumer pays the entire cost of the hybrid modifications. When that's the case, there's no way that the average owner will ever recover the extra cost of the hybrid. Given the likely cost of battery replacement and repairs in later life, there's little chance the original owner can recover any of the costs when selling or trading the car. But they can still feel virtuous and politically correct while driving a large luxury SUV. As Toyota's hybrid sales prove, sometimes perception is all.

Word up young and financially fortunate pistonheads: don't be dissing minivan man. I know it's easy. It's easy to glance over from your hot hatch, company Bimmer or precious Porsche, see Mr. Mom sitting-up at the wheel of his minivan stuffed with car seats and kids, and snigger. Poor bastard, you think, he doesn't have a clue about cool. I'd rather drive a white Ford Fairline than that bread van. But you're mistaken. A) There's nothing lower than a Ford Fairline, and B) Minivan Man doesn't deserve your cardescension. In fact, there with the grace of God go you.

Morphing from pistonhead into Minivan Man (MVM) is a process, like grieving. At first, when the kids arrive, proto-MVM goes into denial. He hangs-on to his/his partner's two-door, or trades the sports car for a hot two-plus-two. He assures his partner that everything will be OK; the baby will fit in the back, no sweat. (Silently thinking, it's a baby, it'll never remember.) When the new father feels the brunt of his hormone-crazed wife's rage as she tries to maneuver a squealing child into the back, when he sees his precious litte angel in that dark, windowless space; he knows he's been beaten. He gets angry. Then he gets over it.

Bargaining starts. Well, honey, we don't really need something THAT big do we? A large sedan would be just as good, wouldn't it? Maybe something with a sports suspension. You know you like to drive fast too– not that you would with baby on board, but every now and then… Hey, how about a Dodge Magnum SRT8 station wagon? And then, suddenly, he becomes aware of minivans. The ease of those sliding doors. The advantages of all that room: less struggling, less screaming, Mommy can go back there and pick up the damn bottle, infinite cup holders, etc. He gets it.

After depression, acceptance. Then, purchase and pleasure. Today's minivans really are great for kids: safe and comfortable, with lots of room for Happy Meal toys, juice boxes, bikes, groceries, soccer balls, backpacks, PSP's, friends and all that other stuff that makes parenting so expensive. The best ones even have God's gift to hassled adults: rear seat DVD's. The audio for these systems can be faded to the rear of the vehicle, giving MVM the rare chance to have an uninterrupted conversation with his partner. That's no bad thing; unless of course it is. In that case, there's enough room for your beloved to stretch-out in the back and watch Toy Story for the 46th time.

And guess what? Minivans aren't that bad to drive. The Honda Odyssey and Toyota Sienna can both outrun a glacier and handle like big sedans. Besides, anyone can drive a Porsche fast. Minivan Man has to thread his beast through traffic without spilling Sasha's Slurpee or Rachel's blue Gatorade, while telling Lola that if she touches Sarah one more time she's never going to Chuck E. Cheese again as long as she lives. And that's final.

Supposedly, the one thing denied Minivan Man is sex appeal. Most guys think women are attracted to a flash guy in a flash car. And they are. But those sunglass-wearing sports car types are the "bad boys"– the ones who break your heart in your twenties and/or fuck around with your alimony in your thirties and forties (and fifties and sixties). Minivan Man is sexy to the women he actually has a shot at, and tends to see more often than not: Mommies. I'm not suggesting that all housewives are desperate, but the ones that are look for three kinds of guys: someone young (not you), someone divorced and responsible, or someone who has as much to lose from an affair as they do. Minivan Man.

Anyway, there is life after minivan. Eventually, the kids grow up, get their own cars and leave. If Minivan Man has been prudent– and it goes with the territory– there'll be a nice little nest egg Mazda MX5 or 350Z to enjoy in those golden years. Unless your kid is smart enough to go to grad school. Then by the time you can afford a sports car, the grandkids will come along and you're straight back in big car territory. And anyway, a hard suspension and six-speed gradually becomes less desirable than a bit of class, a comfortable ride and… quiet.

So don't diss Minivan Van. The chances are he's just as crazy about cars as you. He might even have something hot and fast stashed in the garage. For the time being, he's just doing what he's got to do: driving the best vehicle for the job at hand. If you think about it, that's the exact same formula sports car drivers use to select their wheels. Now how about that?

A certain Mr. E. Ferrari used to refer to Jeep as 'America's only real sports car.' I never fully understood the Italian automaker's claim until I handed the keys to my Cherokee to my SUV-hating girlfriend. As my liver busied itself processing bourbon, she kicked the Jeep's 4.0-liter straight-six into life. Carving through the Silver Lake hills, the Jeep's right-now acceleration, scrappy handling and elevated driving position pleased her almost as much as I did. Enzo was right: Jeeps are a buzz. When DCX lent me the new Jeep Liberty Renegade, I slipped on my steel-toed Wolverines and readied myself for a good 'ole thrash in America's redneck Ferrari.

The model replacing Jeep's venerable Cherokee exchanges the Cherokee's near-perfect two-box design for something that looks like a VW Bug after a visit to Barry Bonds' doctor. Macho dignity is upheld (literally) by the Renegade's seven slot grill and its over-sized, over-compensating wheel arches– attached by marble-sized bolts as garish as diamond teeth. Rock rails and fog lights (disguised to look like KC lamps) reinforce the strong man aesthetic. That said, as I admired the Renegade on my drive, a desperate homemaker walked up and commented, 'That's cute.' Yes, well, the Liberty's UniFrame construction makes it stiffer, lighter and more crashworthy than the body-on-frame construction used by truck-based competitors. So it's still as tough as nails (the metal kind).