We’ve had to wait a long time for a car like this, the new Honda Prelude. Twenty five years, in fact. That’s how long it’s been since the last generation of Honda’s four-seater coupe coughed its last.
And I know what you’re thinking, didn’t four-seater coupes have their heyday back in the late 1990s? Yes, they did.
With only a few notable exceptions, this is a unique and quite glorious nod back to the glory days of the 2+2 frivolity plenty of generations will have embraced, and a perfect antidote to the SUV obsession we’re all hypnotised by today.
Is it too late for a car like this to be relevant, though? I don’t think so. Should it really exist? Oh, god, yes.
Its flowing lines take me straight back to my youth. As I glance into the pointless rear seats I’m immediately transported to a time when Toyota Celicas vied with Fiat Coupes for attention, and pretty much every brand was in on the coupe act.
The front of the car is designed for efficiency, and its looks will grow on you, I promise, but from the rear it’s absolutely stunning. And the side profile is as lovely as it is evocative.
Under the skin there’s a hybrid powertrain lifted from the Honda Civic eHEV. This means it has a very clever self-charging hybrid system.
In a nutshell, a petrol engine mainly generates electricity to power an electric motor that drives the wheels, switching to direct engine drive only at higher cruising speeds for efficiency. Try explaining that to a prospective partner you’re trying to impress with your smart coupe.
This powertrain also offers another little statistic you wouldn’t want to share with your sweetheart. It has just 181bhp. Back in the 1990s, that would have been a bit lacklustre, but 30 years on, and mated to a CVT transmission, it sounds a trifle embarrassing.
But here’s the thing. Honda spent quite a lot of time pointing to a graph that they claim completely justifies the idea that 181bhp is enough. And, when you consider it’s being boosted by a torquey electric motor, you start to think they might have a point.
When you get it out on the open road, it really does sprint off the line quite briskly, and there’s even a clever pretend gearbox baked in with software that simulates gearchanges with little jerks. It even pretends to rev-match on the downshifts. Yes, Hyundai does this too, but it’s a lot of fun, and surprisingly addictive.
It doesn’t stay in manual for very long, but it doesn’t actually matter. Because you’re not actually driving a manual, it’s just pretending, rather well, to have ratios. I know it sounds like it shouldn’t work, but it really does.
The trouble is, if you select its sportiest mode, which turns on a subtle sound synthesiser to emulate a bit of induction roar, you’ll find yourself barrelling into corners, and then attempting to power out of them, only to find the revs are too high, so the torque from the motor has left the chat, and you’re stuck with all the grunt the wheezy four-pot engine can muster. Which isn’t a lot.
And it’s a real shame, because I haven’t got to the best bit about the Prelude yet; its chassis and suspension setup. On English roads, in normal driving, the ride is a bit firm, but if you take the Prelude by the scruff of the neck and dive into the twisty bits with some enthusiasm, you’re rewarded with an almost over-engineered level of capability. This is not just a 1990s coupe rebooted, it’s a remastered interpretation of what modern technology could have done if applied to some of the best 1990s coupes that existed.
And that technology is borrowed from the Civic Type R, widely hailed as one of the best drivers’ cars out there. It gets the same adaptive dampers, the same Agile Handling Assist system, and this is all plonked on a chassis that feels like it has so much to give.
And herein lies my biggest complaint with the new Prelude. It just feels like it’s not as good as it should be. I’ve seen the graphs, I listened to the presentation, but it feels like 181bhp just isn’t enough to make it really sing, and you’re left wanting more from it.
Despite the fact it is hugely entertaining in the bends, we’re in an era now when 300bhp+ is pretty much the norm in a sporty car, and doubling the Prelude’s BHP would be just the tonic.
The nice people at Honda almost seemed like they felt uncomfortable talking about whether a more powerful version might be in the pipeline. This could mean one of several things. It could mean they’re planning it but keeping it a secret. It could mean it isn’t going to happen and they’re gutted. Or it could also mean they’re just getting sick of people asking.
In truth, it really doesn’t matter in the current context, because this is a car that deserves to do well. It will only be sold in limited numbers in the UK, but I genuinely hope demand is strong.
I pondered the sort of person that might buy a car like this, as I dawdled along behind a Kia Venga on a pretty back-road in the Cotswolds. And as I looked around its beautiful symmetrical dashboard, with its surprisingly small infotainment screen, and its refreshing array of physical buttons, it dawned on me that I’m probably its target market. Old enough to have fond memories of the coupe heyday, but sensible enough to be seduced by the superb fuel economy, low emissions, Isofix seats and a quite vast hatchback boot.
And, if Honda ever does do the right thing and create a light-weight stripped-out version, with a screaming Vtec engine and a manual gearbox, would I buy that one, or would I settle for the sensible, lukewarm, clever version I’m currently sitting in?
I think I’d actually be quite torn. Because while a big part of me would love to tear around the country lanes in what would essentially be a reboot of the Integra Type-R, the cardigan-and-corduroy-slacks part of me would be much happier in the hybrid.
Because you get a genuinely usable, comfortable and sort-of-practical daily to take on the monotonous journeys, and a seriously enjoyable weekend hack to hurl into the B-roads.
And that, in my book, is a winning combination.
