Grand Prix Performance - Costa Mesa, CA

Ordinarily, the Japanese bosses treat Acura's Yankee designers with a kind of benign condescension, much as a proud owner would treat a beloved poodle. But for whatever reason, the product executives empowered Acura's California design staff and they, in turn, ripped the skin off the ball.

In a season of gene-spliced coupe crossovers such as the BMW X6 and 5-Series GT, the Honda Crosstour and the upcoming Land Rover coupe-crossover, the ZDX is one of the few, maybe the only one, that work as sculpture. Based largely on the MDX — with the trucklet's high ground clearance and all-wheel drive — the ZDX is more than five inches shorter, canopied in a daring, all-glass greenhouse that tapers dramatically toward the back above hindquarters that are right out of the Porsche 911's playbook. As rakish as sling-back hiking boots, the ZDX disguises its four-door conformation with blacked-out roof pillars and concealed rear-door handles (hidden in the rear sail panel). The glowering, visorlike front end suggests a sex android here to devour your bank account. See Lady Gaga, above.

Under the skin, the ZDX features Honda's excellent, turbine-smooth 3.7-liter, 300-hp V-6, new six-speed automatic AWD system, and nineteen-inch alloy wheels. Acura has applied all its usual blandishments to the chassis, wadding the frame with abundant acoustic materials and applying its active noise-cancellation technology in the cabin, which works like the headphones you use on airplanes.

Aside from the styling, the ZDX's other outrage is its value. At a base price of $45,500, the ZDX is handsomely equipped with an all-leather interior, power tailgate and rear camera, iPod and Bluetooth connectivity. At about $56,000, the full-boat ZDX is a tech lover's dream: two-mode dynamics system (with a sport mode for quicker steering and stiffer suspension); adaptive cruise control with collision mitigation; navigation with voice recognition; Elliot Scheiner — brand ten-speaker audio system. The list is long and tempting.

In these deeply troubled times for the domestic auto industry, the ZDX offers a balm to our national vanity and reminds us that American car design can still be one of the nation's great cultural exports.

In prepping the 'Stang for the challenges of modern roads, Dearborn's engineers amped up performance without diluting the car's soul. The base V-6 packs a creamy yowl and tire-liquefying torque; the optional V-8 spits out a throaty whomp and enough grunt to wrinkle cured concrete. The standard six-speed manual feels unabashedly mechanical, like the love child of a bolt-action rifle and a combine. Lumpy, winding asphalt, long the bane of live-axle cars, is dispatched with a flick of the wheel and an absence of drama. Left alone in a Mustang on an empty stretch of road, you have the distinct feeling that you're getting away with something.

As with most Detroit iron, the numbers satisfy. The 2011 Mustang GT ($29,645) boasts an all-new 5.0-liter V-8, a 32-valve monster that produces 412 hp and 26 mpg. Ten years ago, some supercars had similar power but swilled almost twice as much gas. The base Mustang's 3.7-liter V-6 ($22,145) is a thoroughly modern, aluminum-block whirlwind that uses variable valve timing to generate 305 hp and an astonishing 31 mpg (automatic). Muscle isn't supposed to be this green, and new cars aren't supposed to be this raw.

The Mustang is a glorious anachronism, a bareknuckle wonder in a button-down world. It wears its heart on its sleeve, abhors empty nostalgia, and refuses to deal in excuses.

The sixth generation of the 5 Series, debuting this year, addresses the only weak point in the car — the previous generation's head-scratching styling — with a debonair new profile, serious and unfussy, sporting a rakishly long hood, short overhangs front and rear, and a sleek, aft-oriented cabin that whispers menace. But only whispers. This is not a car that demands to be noticed, just admired.

Only BMW would replace a state-of-the-art, award-winning engine — the previous generation's twin-turbo 3.0-liter producing 300 hp — with another 3.0-liter turboed unit also producing 300 hp. The reason: The new engine (code-named N55) is yet more fuel efficient and even more responsive, using a Mensa-level twin-scroll single turbocharger and BMW's Valvetronic system to elevate torque at lower rpms. Peak torque comes in at a mere 1,200 rpm and stays constant past 5,000 rpm. Combined with the car's Tomorrowland transmission — an eight-speed automatic with more brains than the Yale College Chess Club — the 535i summons eerily smooth, hydrauliclike power at any speed and in any gear. Zero to 60 mph goes by in an effervescent 5.7 seconds. The monster engine option, should you choose to be so rash with your hydrocarbons, is a 4.4-liter V-8 with 400 hp, dubbed the 550i.

Technophiles will want to take their clothes off and roll around in the new 5 Series: Among the performance options is something called Integral Active Steering (nicknamed Intergalactic Steering). Essentially four-wheel steering, this system deflects the rear wheels as much as 2.5 degrees in the opposite direction of the front wheels at speeds under 37 mph. What good is that? It allows the car to turn in a much smaller circle — great for urban maneuverability and parking.

Other marquee systems include an active antiroll bar, which essentially nulls out body roll on fast corners, and a distance-keeping cruise control that actually manages stop-and-go commuting for you. Holland Tunnel, here we come.

The virtue of the 5 Series could also be its vice: Compared with the Cadillac CTS-V or the Infiniti M, its demeanor is sober, Teutonic. But like a fine suit you can wear every day, elegant and refined is often far better than brash and bawdy. And no car in this class is more capable, versatile, and comprehensively evolved. The BMW 535i is always the right fashion choice.

Some people pine for the loss of the raw, but the S4 is a 333-hp reminder of the joys of subtlety. It is built on the bones of Audi's excellent fourth-generation A4, and while it's both faster and more powerful than its base-model brethren, it looks little different. At a glance, it appears to be upstaged by the previous S4, a V-8-powered hooligan that offered wilder looks, two more cylinders, and seven more horsepower. That car also cost nearly five grand more than the new S4, which starts at $45,900. Something, you think, must be missing.

Or: This is what technological progress actually looks like. In the search for fuel economy and space efficiency, Audi ditched the previous S4's 4.2-liter V-8 in favor of a 3.0-liter, Eaton-supercharged V-6. The six is lighter than the eight and almost as smooth, gets an estimated 27 mpg, and rips to its 7,000 rpm redline with all the racket of a dead cat. Audi's quattro all-wheel-drive system is standard, as is a six-speed manual transmission, and both are so slick and polished as to make you feel unnecessary. Around town, the Audi simply disappears.

But because the S4 oozes cold indifference, you find yourself caning it in search of a response. Remarkably, that's when the Audi awakes: The steering comes alive with feel, the once brittle suspension turns fluid and forgiving, and the distant, soulless engine seems appropriately dispassionate, like an exacting, eminently German tool of war. The car is about to get into a bar fight with some asphalt, and it wants you to throw the first punch.

This is what a sport sedan should be: calm when you need it, sharp when you don't, and sedate enough to fool the neighbors.

Buy the 2011 Boxster Spyder and you won't have that problem. Because the Spyder, a lighter, more nimble version of Porsche's entry-level midengine roadster, is not a Boxster. It is a Porsche in the old-school sense — a sports car first and a lifestyle accessory second, or perhaps not at all; a speed-demon special; a stripped-down sprinter that ditches weight-adding fripperies in favor of sharpened reflexes and a bigger grin on your face.

For the relatively low price of $61,200 — $3,200 more than an ordinary Boxster S — you get more purging than a bottle of ipecac: Aluminum doors borrowed from the 911 Turbo cut 33 pounds. A build-it-yourself convertible top — little more than a carbon-fiber frame and a canvas handkerchief — replaces the base Boxster's power top and weighs just 13 pounds. A one-piece aluminum trunk lid with twin headrest fairings saves 6.5 pounds. The gas tank is smaller; air-conditioning, radio, and even cupholders are optional, all because they add pork. And that's not even the whole list.

The result is a 2,811-pound ball of German fury that weighs 176 pounds less than an ordinary Boxster S and 421 pounds less than a Nissan 370Z. A direct-injected, 3.4-liter, 320-hp flat six sits a foot behind your ears, and it lives to howl its four-valve head off and catapult you into the next time zone. As if that weren't enough, Porsche's welterweight rocket is a snappier, more predictable handler — steering and suspension upgrades are part of the package — than its hallowed 911, which puts it high in the running for best-handling car in history.

None of this would matter if the Spyder were cranky, loud, or otherwise a pain in the ass. It's not. The carbon-fiber bucket seats are like falling butt-first into a coffee cup, but they're comfortable on long trips. The Spyder's twin trunks — one front, one rear — are the same size as those of a regular Boxster, and they'll swallow several weeks' worth of luggage. The optional air-conditioning will refreeze the polar ice caps if you adjust it right, and the razor-sharp chassis tuning never translates into a teeth-jarring ride. This is speed without compromise, thrills without spills, and proof that supercar grins and fat wallets aren't always tied. The Boxster Spyder represents the pared-down, less-is-more future of sports cars. If you want more than this, then you want too much.

Oddly, the modern luxury sedan, a beast that should epitomize silent might, doesn't. Most big-dollar four-doors are brash, showy machines, Trump buildings on wheels. Which is why the 2011 Audi A8, a car of few figurative words, is king of them all.

First impressions are deceiving. The A8's direct-injected, 4.2-liter V-8 produces 372 hp, one of the lowest power ratings in its class. From behind the wheel, you hear un-luxe things like wind noise and tire thrum. This is not the staggering isolation of a Lexus LS 460 or the Saturn V blastoff of a Porsche Panamera S. What it is is restrained.

And then time passes. Fifteen minutes in, you hit a stoplight and become mesmerized by the Audi's interior, a sea of wood and brushed aluminum and a masterpiece of industrial design. Half an hour later, you find yourself unintentionally on the highway, driving just to drive. Audis are known for being subtle, but the A8 is so gloriously reserved that it acts like a kind of vehicular Valium — you have no choice but to check your worries at the door.

Like most range-toppers, the A8 is heavy on tech wizardry. The Audi's body is aluminum, which helps keep curb weight down and boosts fuel economy. Adjustable air suspension, variable-ratio steering, and all-wheel drive are all standard, and the automatic-torque-vectoring rear differential from the 2011 S4 — a magic box of gears — helps the A8 corner like the world's largest rally car. The optional 1400-watt Bang & Olufsen stereo sounds exactly like you expect it to (excellent), and the velvety eight-speed automatic shifts like you want it to (quickly, smoothly). A collision-mitigation system can sense an imminent crash, automatically applying the brakes and reducing impact speed. This is luxury with purpose, tech for more than just tech's sake.

What it isn't is obvious. The A8 is a velvety, understated gem, and it makes every other sedan on the planet look insecure, prehistoric, or both.

Meet the antidote: the Lotus Evora, a small, fierce, featherweight midengine sports car that makes other sports cars feel like square-wheeled oxcarts.

Lotus was founded after World War II by an English aerodynamicist named Colin Chapman who was obsessed with reducing the mass of his cars to the absolute minimum — "add lightness" is how he put it. Chapman died in 1982 and the company staggered through decades of money troubles, but in 1995 it hit gold with the Lotus Elise — a tiny midengine, aluminum-chassis two-seater weighing about two thousand pounds. Powered by a screaming little Toyota engine, the Elise is a complete joy to drive hard — crazy, laughing-like-a-lunatic fun. Its chassis-dynamics engineer ought to be the fifth head on Mount Rushmore.

The problem: The Elise is a shoe box, impossible to get into. Parking valets have been known to quit on the spot.

This year Lotus rolls out the Evora — bigger than the Elise but still small, about five inches shorter than a Porsche 911 and just over three thousand pounds. It's a midengine two-plus-two — which is to say, it has tiny little backseats like the Porsche 911 — and unlike the Elise, it has a beautiful, finely crafted interior of French-stitched En-glish leather and brushed aluminum. But in all the scaling up and civilizing of the Evora, the Lotus gospel of elemental function and light weight has been preserved.

Powered by a feverish 276-hp Toyota V-6 mounted transversely and a six-speed manual gearbox, and strung on a race-car-pure suspension of coil-overs and wishbones — not a computer in sight — the Lotus covers the ground to 60 mph in under five seconds and flits and dives from corner to corner like Rimsky-Korsakov's bumblebee. This thing corners so hard, it could peel the bark off a tree.

Lotus has patented a kind of easy, predictable balance and directness so even average drivers walk away from the car feeling like Mario Andretti. At $73,500, what you have here is the everyman's Ferrari.