Toyota went back to basics this time. Despite being a convertible ("Spyder"), engineers managed to cut the MR2 down to a weight so feathery that you'd need three MR2s to balance a scale with a Hummer on the other end. We're talking 2,195 pounds here. Even sitting down in an MR2 is like slipping an anvil into a sixth-grader's backpack.
The MR2's most defining features remain the basis of its namesake: Mid-engined Rear-drive 2-seater. Sticking both the drive wheels and the engine behind your head changes a lot of things. With most of those petty pounds pressing down on the back, the MR2 can get away with running to 60 MPH in 6.6 seconds using a mere Corolla engine and erasing all that velocity in just 112 feet. Since only 922 pounds stand ahead of the MR2's centerline (vs. 2,100 in a Camry), the car follows your every movement of the wheel with no resistance, no delay. The MR2 lives in the moment, executing turns before you're done thinking about them and changing direction faster than you can say "NOW!" If you want a car that darts around more willingly, you'll have to turn to Nintendo.
Super-agile handling usually spells best handling, though the MR2 comes with a set of footnotes. A mid-engine layout compounds the inherent dangers of rear-wheel-drive; low inertial resistance to turning means low inertial resistance to spinning out. Mindful that the MR2s of 91-92 were especially susceptible to such traits, Toyota engineered extra caution into the suspension design and staggered the wheel-and-tire sizes - 185/55R15s in front coupled to bigger, wider, lower-profile 215/45R16 in back (don't ever rotate them) - to compensate for the inherent tail-happiness. On a vigorous run through the Angeles Crest Highway, I found it easy to slide either end of the car at will without feeling any danger, so I think it worked. I also think a stability control system would be in order here.
Is it me, or does the tail-sliding thing come a little too easily? Even a moderate stab at the brakes will break the rear end loose in a turn. Other times it understeered; it seems like half the car is always sliding. Despite all the reasons to appreciate an almost ethereal front end, the MR2's weight distribution of 42/58 leaves it less balanced than the front-engined Mazda Miata (50/50). Lastly, the MR2 isn't equipped with the kind of talkative steering that urges you to go faster. It takes the turns fast, all right, but could stand to feel more excited about it. This might have to do with the electro-hydraulic power assist.
The superchargers and turbochargers from MR2s past are no longer with us, leaving a normal-breathing twin-cam 1.8-liter 4 as the sole powerplant. Don't underestimate; its 138 horsepower easily motivates this car, whooping the last normally-aspirated MR2 by a long shot. It also keeps insurance rates under the roof - the alleged reason for the mid-engined Pontiac Fiero's death - and it takes accidental power oversteer off the list of "ways to kill yourself in an MR2." But for some extra kick to go with those cat reflexes, why couldn't they drop in the Celica GT-S's 180-horsepower version of this engine? The MR2 already looks like a Porsche Boxster; it'd sure be fun if it could go like one.
In the daily commute, the MR2 acts pretty much as expected. The strut suspension isn't harsh but it is busy, constantly delivering high-frequency motions up your spine. Engine drone feels exaggerated since it's coming right behind your ears, and no cloth top is exactly a soundproof filter. The just-adequate stereo can fight it out with the myriad sources of noise, but the battle is long and hard. Top down, it doesn't stand a chance, thanks to speakers placed way down in the doors. The seats feel kind of hard after a while. Still, the MR2 qualifies as a livable commuter, especially in light of the way it nails the stingy-o-meter with 31 MPG - an Automotive.com road test record.
The earlier mention of "technology showcase" was a reference to the MR2's Sequential Manual Transmission (SMT), which sprung up in 2002 just as BMW was bringing its SMG to America. Three years later, the MR2 is still the only non-Euro car to feature this tech piece. If you think you've seen it before in a million sedans, think again: the MR2 SMT packs a hidden clutch that gets pushed in and out every time you tap the shift lever (pull for upshifts, push for downshifts) or steering wheel paddles. You can rest your left leg, never stall, and never grab the wrong gear, but at its core, this is still our good, underappreciated friend, the stickshift.
Therefore, an MR2 SMT rolls backward on hills, doesn't creep forward at idle, wants you to lift your right foot a little on upshifts and shift to neutral at stop lights, and enjoys optimal acceleration and gas mileage. SMT will let you drive like a moron (i.e. driving 25 in sixth) but won't let you murder the engine (i.e. shifting to first at 125). It downshifts only when absolutely necessary, upshifts never, and will happily bounce off the redline if you're so inclined - absolute freedom in every way that matters. Splendid. This isn't another automatic in drag (AutoStick, Tiptronic, Sequential SportShift, etc.); this is the real deal.
It doesn't feel like the real deal. Despite the SMT's mechanical purity, every order for a shift is still routed through that message boy of a computer. Shifts take a full second - a time most drivers could beat - and because you're not really part of the action like in a three-pedal car, the novelty fades. I think Toyota made a major miscalculation by not including a fully automatic mode like BMW and Audi did. SMT seems to have been founded on the assumption that people buy stickshifts for the extra control. Wrong: people buy them primarily because they're fun. Without the satisfaction of shifting, why would anyone want to bother rowing the lever?
In sum, the MR2 is a pleasure to drive, and a unique one at that. But I found just as many grins in the front-engined, front-drive, normal-transmissioned Celica that was around here last week, and that car is ten times more practical.
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