Chrysler Roadster

American culture. There are aspects of it to both love and hate. While I detest multi-channel TV showing nothing but adverts, theatrical politicians and traffic cops with guns, when it comes to chrome-plated diners, rock 'n' roll and cars that put style over substance, I'm with the Yanks all the way.

Auto Express Car Reviews

By Craig Cheetham

November 2004

American culture. There are aspects of it to both love and hate. While I detest multi-channel TV showing nothing but adverts, theatrical politicians and traffic cops with guns, when it comes to chrome-plated diners, rock 'n' roll and cars that put style over substance, I'm with the Yanks all the way.
And that's why three of my favourite things in life are hamburgers, Bruce Springsteen and the Chrysler Crossfire Roadster. All three are flawed: burgers are bad for your waistline, Bruce could do with a less cheesy haircut and the Crossfire has hamfisted handling and less than perfect build. But to my mind they're all works of genius.
So I was delighted to be tossed the keys to the latest addition to our long-term test fleet. The convertible replaced the Coupé we'd been running for the past nine months, and has arrived just in time for winter! But being northern, that doesn't bother me. Some of my colleagues think I am mad for undertaking long-distance journeys, roof-down, in November, but there's nothing like being woken up in the morning by a blast of icy-cold air around each ear. Besides, the Crossfire's heated seats and powerful heater go some way to delivering comfort - and that's just your normal summer in the Derbyshire Peak District.
Joking aside, the Roadster is a much better car than our departed Coupé. The latter polarised opinion in our office like no other - I was in the 'love it' camp, as its lack of handling prowess and horrible gearbox were offset by its stunning appearance. To others they were enough to detract from the car completely. This model goes some way to redressing the balance. For starters, it feels smoother on the road, with extra body stiffening not only compensating for the lack of a roof, but also tidying up the chassis to good effect.
Our cabriolet also has the Mercedes-sourced automatic gearbox, and this transforms the driving experience. Instead of having to wrestle with a heavy clutch and stubborn manual shifter, it allows far more refined progress.
And with the roof down, you can hear the Crossfire's V6 even more than in the coupé, while managing to look achingly cool in the process. So after six weeks, the Crossfire is winning more friends than its predecessor - but that doesn't mean it's got a blot-free copybook. The interior still isn't great, although Chrysler has got rid of the console-mounted cup-holder that popped up every time you changed gear. The ventilation controls are fiddly and irritating, as are the trim rattles that have begun to emerge.
The Roadster's stereo has also got an intermittent fault, which is a shame as the sound system is one of the best standard-fit units around, - just the thing for enjoying Bruce at his best. But sometimes, for no reason, it packs up completely, so I have to sing myself to work. That's fine when I'm on my own, but passengers are desperately begging me to get it fixed, so I'll have it checked out at the car's first service.
Nevertheless, with rock 'n' roll and relish, plus looks that make me drool more than when faced with the world's juiciest hamburger, the Crossfire represents everything I admire about the US. Even if it is built in Germany...