It’s a question to which we think instinctively we know the answer. What was the DeLorean like to drive? It was rubbish, surely? Actually, and as we shall shortly see, it’s not quite as simple as that.
By the time the DeLorean DMC-12 appeared as Marty McFly’s time machine in the Back to the Future films of the Eighties and early Nineties, taking him to the then-far-away future of October 21 2015, its number was already well and truly up. Production had ceased in 1983 and only two years after it started, which itself was five years after the car had been first shown in public.
Far from the planned 30,000 cars per year rolling out of the purpose-built factory in Dunmurry, Northern Ireland – paid for by the British tax payer – just 9,200 had been made in total, many of them with disappointing quality and not one of them according to the revolutionary ideas of the company’s founder John Z DeLorean.
So the car was late, misconceived and soon mired in scandal when right in the middle of it all, DeLorean was charged with drugs trafficking. He was eventually acquitted on the grounds of entrapment, but both he and his car were finished as credible forces in the industry.
‘It’s by no means all bad. This is a car engineered by Lotus. It could all have been so different. Although the DeLorean that came to market in 1981 looked superficially similar to the prototype that was first fired up in 1976, it was actually a very different beast. True, the unique stainless steel body and distinctive gull-wing doors remained (and would provide the motive for Robert Zemeckis to choose it for Back to the Future, but its engine was now mounted behind the rear axle line instead of ahead of it – bad news for handling.
Moreover, the revolutionary super light and strong composite frame intended to form its structure proved unviable in a production car. DeLorean was forced to turn to Lotus to find a way of getting the car into production. And the famous British sports car maker’s solution was for the steel panels to adhere instead to a glass-fibre underbody mounted on a steel chassis adapted from that already used by its own Esprit.
It meant the DeLorean would be far heavier than intended, an impediment that could only be countered by a powerful engine. But none could be found that would fit. In the end a 2.9-litre V6 designed for big Peugeot, Renault and Volvo saloons was used. It produced just 170bhp in those, and US anti-smog equipment dropped it to 130bhp. DeLorean’s original target was 200bhp.
Predictably, the DMC-12 got mauled by the press, which claimed the quality wasn’t right, the car was too slow and the design of the doors made it impossible to get out of in a tight space. Actually, that last point was untrue; DeLorean doors actually require less rather than more room than conventional items.
It didn’t matter, though. After initially strong sales, the combination of its high price ($25,000), poor performance and critical reception saw demand turn down, a position from which the car would never recover.
There is nothing back to the future about the DeLorean today. Its Giorgetto Giugiaro-styled exterior still looks quite good from some angles and those stainless panels remain as rot-free as they were more than 30 years ago, but the inside is terribly dated. A hotch-potch of bits gleaned from the left overs bins of many of the world’s major car manufacturers, it gives the DeLorean a kit car feel despite the fact that, in its day, it cost more than a new Porsche 911.
The engine sounds surprisingly good given its humble origins and when you put your foot down for the first time, it even offers up a gentle growl as the car moves forward. But as the revs rise and you feel that the motor is about to come alive, it never does.
After reasonably meaty mid range performance, the engine starts to sound as breathless and strained as it did in those Euro-barges I tested all those years ago. Officially, it got the car from 0-60mph in 8.8sec, but I’d be surprised if it even squeaked into single figures.
