9/10: Maybach 57/62. A committee-built monument to missing the point.
The 57 and 62 illustrate a different gap between engineering and explanation. They were large, highly developed luxury cars drawing on Mercedes technology, not W140s revived by attaching longer bumpers. Yet their visual relationship to the S-Class made the distinction they were supposed to establish surprisingly difficult to read. A customer could receive substantially more accommodation without receiving an equally convincing new identity. At this level, that is not a superficial problem. The identity is part of the product.
The Phantom VII makes the comparison cruel. Its upright grille, monumental proportions, and very deliberate separation from an ordinary executive sedan give it an immediately recognizable purpose. The Maybach’s rounded body and elaborate detailing look less resolved to me, particularly beside the Phantom’s architectural confidence. That is an aesthetic judgment, not proof that its reclining seats were less comfortable. The trouble is that a great seat cannot do all the work of a great luxury car.
Reclining rear accommodation, a partition on appropriately specified cars, individual climate control, and elaborate entertainment equipment create a genuine passenger environment. The twin-turbo V12 can move it without requiring the occupants to think about the size. The 57, 62, and later S versions differ in dimensions, equipment, and engine specification. Combining every option and the strongest engine into one imaginary standard Maybach would make the car easier to mock but less interesting to understand.
The difficult step was converting competent Mercedes-derived machinery into a separate marque with its own authority. A familiar Mercedes component can be excellent and still weaken the impression of something categorically different.
Nine points reflect that mismatch, not a claim that every used example is financially doomed. A later owner may find the combination appealing precisely because the original market position no longer has to be defended. The repair requirements, however, have not been discounted along with the sales pitch.
10/10: The Event Horizon. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. (A multi-axis approach to insanity.)
10/10: Rolls-Royce and Bentley SZ (Silver Spirit, Silver Spur, Mulsanne, Turbo R, et al.).
The SZ cars reach 10 through the coexistence of formal luxury and very specific mechanical obligations. Leather and carefully matched veneer supply the public experience; hydraulic braking and rear leveling hardware supply a less photogenic one. These are not Citroën DS suspensions concealed beneath British bodies. Steel coil springs remain part of the arrangement. The complexity still matters, because correct fluid, pressure, seals, and maintenance are conditions of continued operation rather than optional expressions of enthusiasm. The drawing room has a plant room.
The Turbo R adds a more entertaining contradiction by making the substantial sedan move with real urgency. Its turbocharged V8 and chassis development deserve more credit than a joke about attaching speed to a wardrobe. Meanwhile, bought-in components are not inherently shameful: a suitable General Motors automatic can be a very sensible engineering choice. The absurdity arises when an atmosphere of incomparable craftsmanship encourages an owner to forget that the object still contains aging machinery. It is possible to adore the walnut and remain entirely unromantic about the hydraulics. Ideally, both attitudes arrive before purchase.
10/10: Volkswagen Phaeton W12.
The Phaeton approaches the same score from the other side of the badge. Volkswagen developed an exceptionally ambitious luxury sedan and retained the roundel associated with its much less expensive cars. The W12 version combined a compact twelve-cylinder layout, all-wheel drive, air suspension, and elaborate climate control. Volkswagen’s original launch material described components designed for 300 km/h even though the production car was limited to 250 km/h. That is a design requirement, not permission to report a measured 186-mph production top speed. It also captures the spirit of the undertaking: additional engineering capacity whose existence mattered even where ordinary operation would never expose its limits.
The restrained body makes the effort difficult to explain at a glance. That can be the attraction for an informed owner and the weakness of the original sales proposition. The Phaeton scores 10 not because every Volkswagen dealer was incompetent or because its precise program losses are known here, but because the badge and the engineering ask the buyer to make almost opposite assumptions. It is a luxury car for someone who wants the machinery without the expected public signal, then discovers that the machinery still expects luxury car maintenance. The disguise works most effectively on the unprepared second owner.
