Lexus LFA

Each Lexus LFA buyer, a global total of just 500, received with their car a special book detailing the incredible decade-long development process. The first sentence of the book reads: “In the beginning is the engine.” There is so much to enjoy and discuss in the LFA, but every experience is dominated by the bespoke 4.8-litre V10 nestled front-midships.

Numbers fail to do it justice. In this day and age, 412kW/480Nm are impressive, but not spectacular, though a 9000rpm redline still raises eyebrows. However, in terms of connection and the ability to illicit an emotional response, only the Speciale’s V8 comes close to the LFA’s 1LR-GUE nothing has yet surpassed it.

It fires with a neighbourhood-waking flare of revs and settles to a buzzing idle. Once warm, cylinder de-activation often means just five cylinders fire in a futile attempt to save fuel. The car is not particularly happy at low speeds; the engine is perfectly tractable, but the single-clutch transaxle feels clumsy.

If there’s one item that dates the LFA, it’s the gearbox, not helped by it only using odd-numbered gears in auto mode. Best to flick it to Sport and use the gorgeous, cold-to-the-touch magnesium alloy paddles.

In contrast to Lexus’s anaesthetised traditional product (eg, SC430, ES300) the LFA feels hyperactively alert. The ride is very firm and ruthlessly controlled, the nose constantly darting and fidgeting over bumps and road cambers. This is not a car in which you make relaxing progress; every input is met with an immediate reaction, but nothing responds as instantly as the throttle pedal.

Lexus went to incredible lengths to ensure the LFA’s V10 possessed unheard of levels of response, including ultra lightweight internals, 10 individual throttle bodies and ‘response prioritised control logic’, which estimates the volume of intake air based on the throttle position to ensure the correct level of fuel is injected instantaneously. If the driver possessed the required skill, it feels as if he or she could meter out the power in 0.5 per cent increments.

With Sydney’s sprawl behind us, it’s time to floor the throttle for the first time. Such is the volume and intensity of noise that erupts, it feels natural to pull the upshift paddle, only to discover a mere 5000rpm was used just over half the LFA’s vocal range. Pick a gear any gear, but third is good sink your foot to the carpet and you enjoy a gradual crescendo, the engine note changing timbre as the rpm rises. This mechanical shriek is no accident, but the result of months of work by Lexus engineers, who reportedly listened to Formula 1 CDs and DVDs on loop in an attempt to capture a similar sound. They succeeded admirably.

Windows down, extending the V10 through overhanging trees or past rock faces is as close as you can get to an automotive religious experience without driving through Vatican City. With the noise at its zenith, it envelopes you like an invisible, audible fog. It’s fast, too. While it lacks the brutal violence of the Aventador’s V12, the LFA is still prodigiously rapid, the rate of acceleration increasing in concert with revs in a way only naturally-aspirated cars can manage.

The LFA’s preternatural responses are somewhat a double-edged sword, though. It responds instantly to driver input, both good and bad. Make a mistake and it’s not interested in flattering your abilities; too much throttle and it skips sideways sharply, and a firm hand is needed on the steering as the nose sniffs out road imperfections like an overzealous beagle.

Up to around eight-tenths the LFA is in no way demanding to drive, but nearer its limit it starts to feel edgy and focuses your attention. This is likely due to the car’s extremely low ‘moment of inertia’, ie, the amount of force needed to make the vehicle change its rate of rotation. This explains why the LFA feels so agile and darty, but theoretically means it’s very easy to catch and correct the car once it has started to slide. Perhaps on a track it would powerslide all day, but with an insured value of $1million, the public road isn’t the place to find out.

Key to the LFA’s handling balance is its compact layout. To achieve such a low moment of inertia, engineers needed to ensure as much weight as possible was concentrated towards the car’s centre. This explains why the V10 sits deep behind the front axle line. The engine itself is a marvel, smaller in every dimension than Toyota’s 3.5-litre V6, yet the car’s compact dimensions it’s no bigger than a 911 created plenty of engineering headaches and the need for some novel solutions.

To view a naked LFA, devoid of panels, is to witness a packaging miracle. For instance, moving the driver and passenger as close as possible to the centre of the car left insufficient space for the exhaust system and propshaft to sit side by side. The latter is therefore stacked vertically above the former, driven by a counter gear rather than directly from the crankshaft, which allows the dry-sumped V10 to sit lower still.

With no room in the front, the radiators sit in the rear of the car. This creates a unique piece of supercar theatre, with following drivers able to see one or both of the radiator fans spin into life as the LFA drives along. The windscreen washer bottle is located behind the left-hand door and space constraints forced the adoption of electric power steering; there was simply no room for an hydraulic system.

There’s plenty to geek out on, but what sets the LFA apart is the way it feels to drive. It is so finely honed. The steering, for instance: while some manufacturers, even high-end ones, still struggle to provide a decent electrically-assisted setup, the LFA’s steering is perfect there is no other word for it. Its speed and weighting are sublime and it’s full of the sort of textural feedback that supposedly isn’t possible without a conventional hydraulic setup. The brakes, too, are the best I’ve ever experienced on a road car, with none of the inconsistent feel or dead spots that plague some other manufacturer’s composite systems. Yes, Lexus engineers took 10 years to get it right, but they absolutely delivered.

While it lacks the headline numbers, in its own way, the LFA is every bit as special as the Veyron. Both are low volume, exquisitely crafted supercars built purely to show what each manufacturer could accomplish with a limitless development budget. But whereas VW, through Bugatti, chose to chase record top speeds, Lexus set out to develop the perfect driver’s car.

It’s undeniably Japanese, but that’s no criticism; whereas Italian supercars are infused with Latin passion, the LFA is imbued with a samurai’s honour. More than any car in recent memory, it’s a work of art, a finely wrought piece of automotive sculpture. The LFA is a credit to chief engineer Haruhiko Tanahashi, who early on “decided to make the LFA exactly as I envisioned it…things that truly move people emotionally are not created through group consensus.” Tanahashi-san, we salute you.