10/10: The Event Horizon. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. (A multi-axis approach to insanity.)
10/10: 1981–1997 Rolls-Royce and Bentley SZ (Silver Spirit, Silver Spur, Mulsanne, Turbo R, et al.).
At 10/10, absurdity is no longer localized. It becomes systemic. The Rolls-Royce and Bentley SZ cars hit the Index through old-world social theater, hydraulic complexity, parts-bin indignity, service dependence, and depreciation logic so baroque it deserves its own crest. Directional lug nuts, each topped with a little arrow so even the footman could keep the wheels sorted. Citroën hydropneumatic suspension and brakes, twin hydraulic accumulators, and electrics by Lucas, which were best approached with a priest. The ride was level as a billiard table until the spheres failed, and then it knelt in the driveway like it was awaiting the bishop’s blessing. Deep-pile lambswool, book-matched burled walnut, picnic tables, and a car phone the size of a watermelon completed the imperial briefing.
The Turbo R produced over 300 horsepower and 480 lb-ft of torque in later form, hitting zero to sixty in under seven seconds, all in a 5,300-pound British brick. Buyers paid $200,000 for a car with J.C. Whitney instruments, thrift-store Jaguar and GM switchgear, and a three-speed GM automatic. It had dual air-conditioning units, an owner’s manual thicker than the Old Testament, and maintenance best handled by a retired naval engineer with a sideline in séances. When VW and BMW arrived, the SZ era’s imperial folly was quietly put to rest. It had earned the full score.
10/10: 2002–2011 Volkswagen Phaeton W12.
The Phaeton earns the same score from the opposite direction. The Rolls and Bentley SZ cars were absurd because an old empire could not stop performing itself. The Phaeton was absurd because Ferdinand Piëch wanted Volkswagen to prove it could build an S-Class, then sell it to people who had walked into a Volkswagen store. His monument to ego, not the Veyron, the other one, came with commandments that now read like engineering scripture written during a corporate fever. Torsional rigidity at 37,000 newton-meters per degree. A design target to cruise at 186 mph in 122-degree Fahrenheit heat while the interior stayed at a perfect 72 degrees. A wild double-VR6 W12 engine, 4Motion all-wheel drive, eighteen-way heated, cooled, and massaging seats, an air-conditioned glovebox, HVAC servos by the dozen, and motorized wood panels that concealed the vents when you turned off the car.
The Phaeton looked like a Passat to everyone except Ferdinand Piëch. Buyers were rare. Reliability was a minefield. Volkswagen dealers lacked the polish and the technical preparation to support either the customers or the mechanics of a $100,000 car, and the price ensured that few ever left Dresden. VW lost big money on the project but kept making the car out of pride. Bentley received the corporate architecture in more profitable clothing, where the same bones became easier to explain. Too nice for VW, not nice enough for Bentley, and the perfect example of corporate hubris dressed as restraint.