Horacio Pagani listens. Not hears. Listens. As in, he actually pays heed to the expressed opinion of others.
It is, if you’ve been paying any attention to the world around you these days, seemingly a unique talent. Prime ministers call for “consultations” on decisions they’ve already made, CEOs seek feedback they’ve already decided to ignore, and, lordy, has there ever been a creature as tone-deaf as the banker making pronouncements on the “sacrifices” they’ve never themselves had to make.
Enter Horacio. Every word a loyal Pagani owner utters is sacrosanct to the most creative supercar designer of our times. Every opinion lodged is noted, judged and then filed away — if only mentally — for future consideration. No request is too outlandish to dismiss, no viewpoint to unique to ignore, and, most certainly, no desire, when backed up by the most important “hearing” criteria of all — the ability to pay the two-million-plus euros for one of his creations — is rejected. He listens.
That’s why, for instance, his latest Utopia — only the third model in Pagani’s already-storied 25-year history — is completely devoid of the electrically adjustable wings, air brakes, and the rest of the visible trickery that defined the Huayra. “Simplicity” is what his clientele said they wanted. A neo-classic design is what they got.
Conversely, for some reason, owners wanted their interiors even more ornate. Claim all you want that this is a ridiculous request — Pagani interiors already look like a cross between a Swiss watch and the curtains in Versailles — but that’s what they got. Call the result “steampunk,”“baroque,” or even “Victorian” — all descriptors, by the way, that have actually been used by pundits to describe the Utopia’s interior — but the message was received, and the Utopia’s cabin is pretty much what we peons imagine the inside of a Fabergé egg must look like.
Most of all — and this is where listening to owners and not pundits like Yours Truly is what’s important — they asked for a manual transmission. Who cares that it would be slower, make the car more difficult to drive, and that the mating of clutch, gear selectors, and V12 engine — especially a giant 6.0-litre that is twice turbocharged — is as difficult a pairing as there is in automotive powertrain engineering. They asked, Horacio listened, and now three-quarters of the 99 Utopias already pre-purchased will be delivered by a seven-speed stick shift.
The melding of performance and art
I’ve heard some people claim the Utopia isn’t beautiful. I, in the strongest possible terms, beg to differ. Shorn of fantastical air brakes — in my mind the supercar equivalent of click-baiting headlines in mainline media — and adjustable wings, the latest Pagani is all that is good about supercar design. The front end is all mid-’70s Le Mans, the rear an Art Deco rendition of McLaren’s muscular M8C Can-Am car, and, in between, the cabin is almost the perfect teardrop that aerodynamicists are all always raving on about.
As nostalgia modernized — which is essentially what the old, rich men who buy supercars want — the Utopia is absolutely stunning, my favourite in a showroom of wonderful designs that have all become instant classics.
What I care about even more — and what is truly most impressive about this latest melding of art and performance — is that this simpler design gives up nothing. For one thing, some “active” aeros remain; they’re just hidden in internal channels. For another, there’s no reduction in down-force, no increase in speed-sucking drag. Indeed, the most amazing thing about Horacio Pagani is how he is able to take the seemingly performance-stifling requests of clients and make all the aerodynamics work.
I had the Utopia up to some seriously silly speeds on Italy’s autobahn — no carabinieri to be seen! — and it tracked as true as if it had a giant wing out back and a ground-hugging splitter up front. Truly, the melding of art and performance.
The making of internal-combustion magic
At one point in time, the Utopia — then codenamed “C10” — was supposed to be all-electric. Or at least modular enough that it could accommodate a battery and asynchronous motor as well as an ICE powertrain. Maybe it was the prospective owners who convinced Horacio he should think otherwise. Or maybe it was talking to Mate Rimac — the creator of the incredibly-overpowered quadruple-motored Nevera — who told Horacio that pure electrics are a tough sell amongst those who can actually afford hypercars. Whatever the case, Horacio listened.
So the Utopia remains resolutely piston-powered. In fact, by the same twice-turbocharged 6.0-litre V12 that has powered Paganis past. However, like the Utopia’s visage, it, too, has had a renaissance.
For one thing, it’s more powerful than ever. There’s a hypercar-challenging 852 horsepower available and, despite the fact there’s nary a plug, battery cell, or asynchronous motor to be found, there’s a truly stout 811 pound-feet of torque. Not quite Bugatti numbers, to be sure, but then the Pagani only weighs 1,280 kilograms, about 700 kilograms less than plug-in hybrid Tourbillon.
The resultant 1.5-kilogram-per-horsepower power-to-weight ratio is superior to all manner of top-shelf supercars — Ferrari’s SF90 XX and Lamborghini’s Revuelto, to name just two — and certainly challenges those gummy Corsa-spec Pirelli PZeros out back, even if they are oversized 325/30ZR22s (the fronts, not to be outdone, are 265/35ZR22s).
We’re constantly being told that internal combustion is dead, and that electrification is the future of high performance. But, except for the aforementioned Rimac Nevera, there’s nothing that leaves the Pagani in the dust. One hundred kilometres per hour takes barely two-and-a-half seconds from zero, and somewhere in Italy — where the polizia seem to shun actual policing — some crazed auto-journalist may have squeezed more than 300 km/h out of Pagani’s press car.
What’s perhaps even more amazing is that Mercedes-Benz is not only still making but still refining the M158. An offshoot of the M275 twin-turbo V12 that powered such behemoths such as the SL and CL 65, not to mention the Maybach 57S, Pagani is Mercedes’ only client for the V12. In other words, the world’s sixth-most profitable automaker builds less than a hundred of these engines a year, any monies they might squeeze out of Horacio probably not paying for the coffee in the executive lunchroom.
And yet, the big twin-turbo V12 now makes about 60 more horsepower than it did in the last Huayra I drove, the then-top-of-the-line BC. Its character has also been transformed. Early versions couldn’t disguise their touring-car roots. Powerful, yes, but a mite ponderous as well, never quite as willing as an equally-powerful naturally-aspirated motor.
No more. I’m not sure what Mercedes has done — or what Horacio demanded — but the Utopia’s engine fairly sings. Oh, it hasn’t got the light-switch response of the normally-aspirated HWA 6.0-litre V12 in the track-only Huayra R, but it’s way more eager than previous Paganis all the way to its 6,700-rpm red-line. Where previous Pagani turbos always felt like they had some giant flywheel holding them back, this latest version fairly zings. Talk about having your cake and eating it, too: the monstrous torque of twin turbochargers along with the instant throttle response of individual-throttle-bodied naturally-aspirated V12.
Better yet — because there’s not much point to supercar speed if it isn’t backed up by an appropriately threatening symphony — the bark from the trademark quad pipes is even more menacing. And thanks to the urgency to get to next gear even more immediately, and those lighter engine internals, it’s more than eager to row through those seven gears. A good thing since—
About that manual transmission
Like its paddle-shifted sibling, the Utopia’s new seven-speed transmission is made by Xtrac. But now, as well as the semi-automated version, there’s a manual clutch. With a (semi-)unique down-and-to-the-left-for-first gated dogleg shift pattern, no less. It’ll take some getting used to, which, I suspect, is why so many are being ordered. A tricky manual, to use a tired but entirely appropriate stereotype (especially considering the clientele), will in the eyes of its owners separate the men from the boys, an important consideration when you’ve just put down a minimum of 2,322,000 euros — some CDN$3.5 million — on a car.
The good news is the Pagani has a rev-matching system. And that, as I mentioned, this latest version of Mercedes’ V12 is a little more responsive, which not only helps outright acceleration, but also makes the little downshifting “burp” from, say, fourth to third a little smoother. In other words, the electronics — and, yes, in the modern world, even manual transmissions are digitally-enhanced — work magic.
That said, the detents on either side of the third-fourth shift are a little stiff, which can make — if it’s your first time in the Utopia, and, like me, you really can’t afford even the slightest repair bill — trail-braking deep into an Italian tornante while banging down from third to second a little cumbersome. Heel-and-toeing a $3.5-million 852-hp supercar is not for the faint-hearted!
As much fun as it is playing Juan Manuel Fangio — and as satisfying as the snick-snick of a gated shifter might be — I’d still opt for the paddle-shifted seven-speed manumatic. With this much speed at my beckon, I’d prefer to focus all my ‘talent’ on keeping the car in the road!
The stickshift is the centrepiece of Pagani’s most ornate interior yet
The insides of all Paganis are homages to artisans past. Modern trim materials — carbon-fibre and pretty much anything recycled — are nonexistent. Leather and exquisitely milled aluminum are used for virtually everything. Hell, save for the small digital screen that serves as a gauge set information centre, the entire dashboard could have been lifted from a Duesenberg or pre-war Mercedes.
Mechanical gauges dominate; switches, likewise machined aluminum, are abundant; and, my Lord, is the steering wheel a piece of art. As I’ll discuss in an upcoming Motor Mouth, it starts as a single piece of aluminum and is CNC-machined for more than a day until 95% of its 43 kilograms are but shavings on the shop floor. No one else, not even Bugatti with its new Tourbillon, pays this much attention to detail.
Nonetheless, the part that really deserves the attention is the transmission. Not a piece of cast aluminum to be found, it too is hewed from a giant chunk of aluminum, only in this case, they’re delicate and precise. With all the mechanical bits — the extended H-gate, the various Heim joints, the incredibly intricate swivel joint that allows longitudinal and lateral movement of the gearshift lever with equal precision — it’s like a mobile engineering demonstration of how a manual transmission works. Pictures don’t do it justice. It’ll be in the Guggenheim one day.
And that’s why the Utopia was sold out before the first one was a bare frame on Horacio’s brand-new factory floor. Nothing on wheels — absolutely nothing — matches the Pagani’s theatre. Gordon Murray’s T.50 may be lighter, Bugatti’s upcoming Tourbillion more powerful, and, to be absolutely sure, Koenigsegg’s 500-km/h Jesko Absolut will be faster. Ferrari V12s scream more, Rimac’s Nevera is more stomach-churning, and, you could make an argument — though I’d suggest an unwise one — that the Mercedes-AMG One is more beautiful. But nothing on this planet — perhaps in all automotive history — has ever been created with a dedication as absolute to the visual senses.
It’s not often — in fact, never — that I seek the opinion of others, but in this case, there’s really no use in trying to one-up Top Gear’s synopsis: “The Utopia isn’t about driving performance, it’s about the performance of driving.” Truer words have never been spoken.
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