aBehold, in cloud-splitting rays of Cecil B. DeMille light, the 2012 Audi A7, and verily, I say unto you, people seem really excited about this car. I mean, wow. Folks in my hometown took one look at Audi's latest—a big fastback four-door, or "sportback," if you like—and started babbling in unknown tongues and giving away their pets.
Yes, I agree, the A7 is the Second Coming. But the thing that's come again is the Streamline Moderne design idiom of the 1930s. Not since the Cord 810 has a car so obviously—I would even say deliberately—invoked the insouciant futurism of Norman Bel Geddes and Gordon Buehrig, of aeronautic toasters and rocketeer helmets. Look at the car from 90 degrees. The cue is the formal shoulder line (also known as the "tornado" line, if the phrase isn't too grim for you) that makes a constant-radius curve around the front fender and shoots straight back in an extravagantly flat horizontal crease, Streamlining's famous "speed line." Without that single line, the '30s as we know them could not have existed, to say nothing of South Beach.
There are many other things to like about the A7 design. It's handsomely proportioned, with a short front overhang, steeply raked windshield and an arrogantly low roofline that lands in that warp-speed fastback. The blacked-out roof pillars exaggerate the malevolent orientalism of the DLO, the daylight opening. The big, seven-strake grille just kills, obviously. And—this is a technical but important point—the cutlines around the hood, doors, trunk, front and rear bumper clips and rear-deck spoiler all connect with a crease or synch up with some datum to accentuate the larger piece of sculpture.
So, yes, this is a mighty smart piece of industrial design. But the end-days delirium around this car is all about the streamlining, which rings big, magnificent bells in the American unconscious.
Some background: The A7 is a platform-mate to the new, revised 2012 A6. It's 6.6 inches shorter than the standard-wheelbase A8 (Audi should start seasoning the leg of the A8 now because that car will surely be cannibalized by the A7). With a wheelbase of 114.7 inches and length of 195.6 inches, the A7 is almost exactly the same exterior size as the redesigned 2012 Mercedes-Benz CLS executive coupe, a car I haven't driven yet but that appears to have lost a swordfight.
For the U.S. launch Audi will offer the A7 with a single engine choice (a supercharged 3.0-liter V6 good for 310 horsepower and 325 pound-feet of torque) and an eight-speed ZF automatic transmission, churning the cogs in Audi's Quattro all-wheel-drive system (60% static rear torque balance and electronic rear-differential lock). The car's base MSRP is about $60,000 delivered, but with options such as a $5,900 Bang&Olufsen stereo, it's easy to put together a car like our test vehicle, priced at $80,130. And, before you even ask, no diesel at launch.
Cross-shoppers will look at the Porsche Panamera V6 (pricier) and Mercedes's V8-powered CLS (pricier but more powerful), and BMW's sweet-hot mess, the 5-series Gran Turismo. And that returns us to styling.
For some idea of how far wrong the luxury-hatchback thesis can take you, look at the 5-GT, a car with almost exactly the same shadow as the A7 but so comprehensively awkward it has to be the result of industrial sabotage. Heavy as sin (4,600 to 5,000 pounds), visually chubby and as weirdly genderless as a Ken doll, the 5-GT ought to have one redeeming virtue: cargo capacity. And yet the sailplane-sleek Audi has 9 cubic feet more cargo capacity under its fastback than the BMW (24.5 vs. 15.5 with rear seats up). True, the 5-GT has 3 inches more rear headroom and, with the seats down, slightly more overall cargo capacity (also, it has a five-seat configuration). But that is the most arctic of cold comfort. The thing's an oinker.
The Audi's triumph then is not its city-in-the-clouds fuselage, its slew of electronics or its performance. It's managing to get all that, and wagon-like cargo capacity, in one car. In one rather un-sexy word: packaging.
2012 AUDI A7
- Base price: $60,125
- Price as tested: $80,130
- Powertrain: Supercharged and intercooled direct-injection 3.0-liter DOHC 24-valve V6 with variable valve timing; eight-speed automatic transmission with manual-shift mode; all-wheel drive.
- Length/curb weight: 195.6 inches/4,210 pounds
- Horsepower/torque: 310 hp at 5,500-6,500 rpm/325 pound-feet at 2,900-4,500 rpm
- Wheelbase: 114.7 inches
- 0-60 mph: 5.4 seconds (est.)
- EPA fuel economy: 18/28 mpg, city/highway
- Cargo capacity: 24.5 cubic feet (rear seats up)
Inside, the A7 clones much of the layout of the A8, with superb switchgear and displays, including an 8-inch full-color LCD screen that can be retracted into the dash when not desired. The A7 is available with what Audi called "natural brown ash wood inlay," which is a lacquer-less, no-gloss wood interior trim, reminiscent of the lumber in an upper-end Infiniti. Think coffee table instead of guitar.
Clearly aimed at young technocrats, A7 is silly with digital gear, including a new navigation system with Google Earth satellite imagery; additionally, users can download Wikipedia entries for area points of interest, as well as weather, travel info and other online content. The car can also act as a T-Mobile Wi-Fi hotspot, with up to eight devices being served (raising the possibility of Wi-Fi pirating from the car next to you). The interfaces include a center-console rotary dial with quadrant buttons as well as a touch pad on which you can spell out words by writing the letters with your fingers. N-I-C-E.
The A7's driving character is precisely what you'd expect of a next-generation Audi: fluid, silky, with a graphite-lubricated quality that extends from window switches to the throttle and brakes. With the A7, Audi's celebrated haptic refinement gets another pass through the distillery. The V6's tabletop torque curve (325 pound-feet from 2,900 to 4,500 rpm) pulls the car up to speed gracefully and the count-'em eight forward gears buff off whatever rough edges might sneak past the engine management during gear changes. With a 0-to-60-mph trot in 5.4 seconds, the A7 isn't the quickest car in its class—the V8-powered Mercedes has three-tenths of a second on it—but the Audi is so unstrained, so willing, it actually feels faster than it is.
If you could level a criticism at the A7 it would be—channeling Oscar Wilde—that the car's handling has no redeeming vices. The steering is sweet and precise but could be more direct. (Note: The Audi Drive Select system allows you to ratchet up the steering response, the punchiness of the gear changes and the dynamics intervention; however, the U.S.-spec A7 does not, as yet, offer adjustable air suspension like that of the A8.) The cornering posture is level and composed, the ride serene and compliant, and the handling balance fairly neutral. Come back to the throttle at the apex of a corner and you can feel, distantly, the torque sluicing toward the rear axle. Our car featured the S-Line sport suspension with beautiful 20-inch wheels inside grippy summer rubber. A whip, a most excellent, executive whip, m'lord. But the chassis is obviously capable of a lot more performance.
It's coming. Inevitably, Audi will stuff the guts with the VW Group's twin-turbo 4.0-liter V8, as well as a dual-clutch automatic, a torque-vectoring rear axle and the adjustable air suspension, and call the result the S7. Like the mind-murdering, mutha-punching S5, the S7 should be quite the car.
On the scale of oxymorons, "luxury hatch" is right up there with "hilarious colonoscopy," but somehow the Audi A7 makes it work, and makes it, dare I say, a revelation.
