The surprising 1990s sports car that matches a brand new £100k Morgan for joy
Few cars bring joy like the new Morgan Supersport, although Porter knows of another
After one week and 800 miles in the Morgan Supersport I realised that it reminded me of something. And that something was my 1991 Honda Beat. I bought my Beat after giving in to an ongoing obsession with kei cars. It’s really amusing, chiefly because its 656cc, 64 horsepower, three-cylinder engine has an individual throttle body per cylinder and an 8500rpm red line that it wants you to approach as often as possible. This task is made easy by one of Honda’s tightest, most precise gearshifts and the delightful knowledge that, as you charge towards the top end in third while making the sound of a 1:16-scale NSX trapped in a tin, you’re not even close to breaking the prevailing speed limit.
So far, so not much like a handmade British roadster built from aluminium and wood with a lusty BMW straight-six. But one of the things I love about the Beat is not only that it makes me smile but also that it makes other people smile too. Strangers are drawn to this car, often just to ask what it is. Sometimes they’ll collar me as I’m about to get in, curious to know how I can fit in it. It’s a fair question since I’m about 1.9 metres tall and kei rules mandate a max length and width of 3.4 and 1.48 metres respectively. Yet, amazingly, I fit without issue. Last week I drove for four hours with only one break and didn’t need to be removed at the end by an osteopath with an engine crane. It’s a really good bit of packaging.
> Morgan Supersport review – the retro sports car we’d consider over a Porsche 911
Is it a really good car though? I don’t know. The engine and gearbox are terrific, but for a light car with no PAS the steering could be better and the chassis a little sharper. Though I’ll grant you, the ride is nice. But the finer nuances of the dynamics don’t really matter; it’s different, it’s fun, and it brings delight wherever it goes.
And here’s where the Morgan Supersport comes in because, like the Honda, it’s a very specific kind of joy machine. And a lot of that joy doesn’t come from driving it. That’s not to say the Supersport is bad, far from it. The 3-litre, twin-turbo straight-six is a strong, smooth gem in this application, especially since it’s got just 1170kg to move along, and this lack of mass gives the Supersport the same frictionless sense of gathering pace you get from an Alpine A110. Morgan, like Ferrari, has discovered that almost none of its customers want a manual any more, so the Supersport is eight-speed ZF auto or nothing and that’s fine because it suits the car. There’s much else to enjoy, from the excellent weight and ratio of the steering to the unique sensation you get when the front wheels are very far ahead of your toes and the rears very close to your arse. It’s surprisingly agile too.
On the downside, the ride is velvety by trad Morgan standards but jittery and restless by others, and that can spoil your progress down a flaky B-road. It’s also really noisy with the roof up, though the simple answer is to embrace the windiness by driving everywhere with the roof down. It’s easier to leave it down too, because though the mechanism is sophisticated by Morgan standards, it still feels a little like it came from Millets. The fact of the matter, however, is that after a short time in a Supersport all foibles are crushed under the realisation that wherever you go, you are spreading delight.
I struggle to think of another new car that draws such a positive, cheerful reaction from total strangers. If you’re in motion they shout nice things, if you’re stopped they want to ask about it with the wide-eyed enthusiasm of a child demanding to know more about your dog. You are not a driver in a Supersport, you are a bringer of happiness to others.
The creators of this car wanted it to be a Morgan you could have as a second car, rather than third or below in the pecking order. The idea being, it’s more useable more of the time. And you’d probably want to get use from it when it costs a chunky £102,000 before options. It’s a lot of cash and puts it into some deep water, not least because that’s where the Porsche 911 lives. There’s no doubt a basic Carrera is more polished, and quite a bit more practical. But no one yelps with delight at seeing a 911 or gleefully waves at the driver or, as happened to me with a lady who admired the Supersport, unexpectedly asks if they can stroke it. Only the Morgan brings that level of happy interaction and feels as if it’s making the world a slightly better place. If I had 102 grand lying about, I’d be tempted just for that. But for now, I’ll settle for a 1991 Honda Beat.
This story was first featured in evo issue 338.
