At the Century's End, a Car for the Ages

June 13, 1999

BEHIND THE WHEEL/2000 Audi TT At the Century's End, a Car for the Ages

By DAN NEIL

he postmodernism that swamped architecture in the 1980's lapped up on the shores of the automobile in the 90's. Starting with the Dodge Viper -- a riff on a muscle-car icon, the Shelby AC Cobra -- a series of cars have happily rummaged through the toy box of great design. The Volkswagen New Beetle, pert and stylized, revisits the classic Bug; the Plymouth Prowler is the PG-13 version of the raunchy T-bucket roadster; the anticipated Ford Thunderbird reimagines the mythic, coming-of-age coupe from the 50's in glossy, computer-designed perfection. Interesting cars, all. Yet there is something glib and easy about them, and each seems hidebound by its source material. The new Audi TT sport coupe, on the other hand, draws from no car in particular. In its broad, flat proportions, its wheels thrown to the far reaches of the chassis, it pretty obviously breathes the same air as the first Porsche, the 356. Less obviously, the roofline hints at the ridged backs of Grand Prix racers fielded by Auto Union. That company, a consolidation of four auto makers in prewar Germany, lends its four-ring emblem to the Audi of today. Unlike the Prowler and the T-Bird, the TT manages to avoid airs of pining nostalgia. With its blunt fenders and taut skin, its constant-radius roofline and its crisp creases around curvilinear wheel arches, the TT recalls nothing so strongly as other brilliantly executed new cars from Audi and its parent, Volkswagen. (A neighbor said the TT looked as if someone had taken a rolling pin to a New Beetle.) A car of traffic-stopping beauty and heart-racing cool, the TT is a postmodern masterpiece, probably the first such work in automobiles. In suave and sure strokes, it blends the streamlined style and geometric curves of 1930's Art Deco with the spare economy of Bauhaus. In its exposed rivets, Torx-head screws and brackets, its leitmotif of brushed aluminum rings, it flirts with a half-dozen Machine Age schools of design. In one way, however, the TT seems to shrug off the postmodern label. It has none of the tart-tongued humor that usually marks the style, none of the precious irony that you see in, say, the Beetle. This is an earnest car for serious drivers, seriously fast and seriously fun. Three years ago, when Audi began circulating TT concept cars -- a silver coupe and a battleship-gray ragtop -- they seemed a farfetched notion. Audi was coming off a decade of slumping sales and it seemed more in need of mainstream products than sports exotica. Moreover, many figured that the TT's audacious use of bare aluminum and exposed workings would never make it past the safety police. (The inside of the doors was naked metal; the door lever was built into the tubular side-impact beam, which doubled as a door pull.) When Audi -- inspired, no doubt, by the enthusiasm shown for sports cars from BMW, Mercedes-Benz and Porsche -- announced that it would indeed build the TT, many were dubious that its Bauhaus soul would survive in a production body. Yet amazingly little of the TT's edgy, industrial patina was lost in the march to market. Rings of brushed aluminum -- echoes of the four-ring logo -- glimmer in the cabin, floating on a background of dense vinyl and industrial-grade rubber. Rotating bezels of aluminum dimpled with fastener-style indentations surround the air vents. This dimple theme is picked up on the steering wheel, in the trim at the base of the shifter, on the shift knob, and, outside, with the aircraft-style fuel-filler cap. Shiny aluminum rings also surround the black-faced instruments -- which glow a devilish red at night -- and the dash-mounted buttons, including those for the optional seat heaters. These pop out and rotate, lighting up a circle of red L.E.D.'s as they are turned higher. The climate controls, encircled in the same aluminum (which, remarkably, does not show fingerprints), use spring-loaded dials that toggle "plus" and "minus" for fan speed and temperature. Bigger slabs of aluminum are used for a door that conceals the audio controls and for the large, perforated dead pedal, or foot rest, to the left of the clutch. (The TT will have only a manual transmission for its first few months in the United States.) Exposed triangular brackets connect the transmission tunnel to the dash assembly; when the driving gets intense, as it surely will, you can brace against a bracket for more stability. Inevitably, there are some ergonomic tradeoffs. The cup holder, a double hoop of aluminum wire, resides inconveniently between the seats at about the driver's right elbow. The window switches are tucked weirdly behind the door pull; operating these is a move akin to fishing a cherry out of the bottom of a highball glass. The seating position is upright and comfortable, but the car's high gunwales, low roof and sloe-eyed side glass restrict visibility. It sometimes feels as though you are peeking out from under an umbrella. Such is the price of sports-car cool. The front shoulder belt is hard to reach once you are seated. The rear seats, though equipped with belts, are too small for sentient beings. Better that the seatbacks be folded to make use of the well-finished and spacious (11 cubic feet) cargo hold. Here, polished aluminum tie-downs hide in spring-loaded recesses. Details abound. Audi plans to phase the TT into the American market, beginning with the front-drive coupe that went on sale last month, then a coupe with the same engine and Quattro all-wheel drive in the fall. Next spring, Audi will offer a more potent 225-horsepower version of the Quattro coupe; it adds a larger turbo-charger and other performance tweaks to the same basic engine. The bad news is that Americans will have to wait a year for the roadster, which will come only with all-wheel drive but will offer a choice of 180- or 225-horsepower engines. The good news is that the chassis of the base coupe ($31,025 including destination charge) is way overengineered in the interests of commonality with the more powerful version now available only in Europe. And the base coupe is no slouch. Under its stubby hood is a tweaked version of Volkswagen's 1.8-liter, 20-valve turbo-charged four-cylinder, which produces 180 horsepower and 173 foot-pounds of peak torque. The motor is buttoned to a flawless five-speed manual transmission. While the car feels a little lazy off idle, a consequence of the time it takes the turbo-charger to spool up, it then wakes up like a startled deer, surging forward in great gusts of acceleration as you work through the gears. Zero to 60 miles an hour blows by in 7 seconds; at highway speeds, there's still enough oomph for mid range passing to spill your coffee. Because it was designed with the convertible in mind, the coupe's chassis is girder-stiff. Even during hard driving on rough roads, the interior pieces did not make a peep. (It is not unusual for an exotic interior to rattle madly in the real world.) Because the chassis is so stiff, the suspension could be compliant without sacrificing the handling. The TT has a firm but supple ride, dousing big bumps without smothering feedback through the seat and wheel. The tautly bolstered bucket seats keep passengers socketed securely in place. Like most front-drive cars, the TT favors understeer -- resisting changes in direction at high speed -- though with the optional 17-inch performance tires the car has more grip than most drivers will be willing to exploit. Near the limit, the car does a little hitching maneuver upon turning toward a corner (not surprising, on a short 95.4-inch wheelbase), but settles instantly onto what feels like rails. Traction control is standard and it helps to preserve rubber when the torquey car is put under the lash. A stability system -- à la Mercedes-Benz -- is not in the plans and seems superfluous anyway. The TT has superb tactile sensations. The fat steering wheel feels alive in your hands; the brakes (four-wheel disks with antilock technology), clutch and gas pedal all modulate with sports-car precision. While all the controls are heavy, in the Teutonic mold, the car is effortless to drive over all. Is it too late for nominations for Car of the Century, way too soon to elevate the TT to that lofty list? I wonder. This is a historically significant car. For all its retro eclecticism, the TT manages to be utterly fresh and original. Above all, the TT works -- it handles and performs well, drives easily, offers practical space and delivers it all at an excellent price. If good design is about anything, it is about all that. INSIDE TRACK: Postmodern that matters.

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