Citroen SM
Despite having the unpromising combination of French
build quality and a temperamental Italian mini-supercar V6,
the SM has earned its place on The List by being a kind of
automotive equivalent of Concorde; the epitome of the
Seventies’ love affair with style dictated by speed.
From the fared in rear wheel arches to the slippery body
shape, the exterior of the SM exudes the sense of purpose
and optimism that was inherent in Europe before the Oil
Crisis gate-crashed the party. It speaks of high speed
trans-Europe journeys, of gliding past the masses in their
spluttering boxes, of a glamorous future that somehow never
became the present. When you were a child and dreamt of life
in the mythical Year 2000, this is the car that you thought
everyone would be driving.
Inside is no different – the quilted seats, single spoke
steering wheel and oval dash look like they’ve been lifted
directly from the cabin of a Seventies sci-fi series’
spaceship. But it’s the button brake ‘pedal’ that really
catches the eye. Reminiscent of the floor mounted buttons
used to flush the stand-up toilets that are still strangely
popular in the more rural parts of France, it instantly
challenges the orthodoxy of conventional pedal design, both
in looks and function (more on this later.)
It’s almost a disappointment when you twist the key in
the ignition and hear the raucous cacophony of an internal
combustion engine; you half expect it to be powered by a
silent electric motor, like the DS in the sci-fi film
Gattaca. This thought is soon displaced from your mind after
a short drive, though. The Maserati V6 is wonderfully
mellifluous, emitting an Italian howl that, although
initially incongruous, somehow melds perfectly with the
character of the SM.
Being front wheel drive, the SM understeers at the limits
of adhesion, but to fling it down a twisty back lane is to
miss the point of owning this car – its forte is the high
speed A road, where the supple hydropneumatic suspension and
Maserati V6 enable you to make rapid, unflustered progress,
the engine singing so sonorously at three thousand plus revs
that you don’t mind changing down to overtake a dawdling
lorry, or vicar on his way to church.
Steering is high geared and precise, and features one of
the first variable assistance systems. This also helps to
eliminate any kickback through the wheel, although it does
rob the steering of a little feel.
The brakes are less cooperative – although extremely
powerful they are controlled by a button that is pressure
but not distance sensitive, and can result in some
interesting on/off moments until the driver becomes
accustomed to exerting the appropriate amount of force. The recent
Mclaren Mercedes SLR has been criticised for a similar
problem with brake modulation, which just seems to give
credence to the old adage ‘if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.’
So, what does an SM say to the world about its driver? It
certainly manages to avoid conjuring images of
self-consciously retro-obsessed individuals treating it as
an ironic statement, as has afflicted many of its lower
class contemporaries. It is far too classically elegant, and
requires too much commitment on behalf of its owner to ever
fall into such hands. No, the SM makes a clear statement
that its driver is able to pick from a dismal decade one of the true
hidden gems.
It is a melding of all that was cool about design in the
Seventies, before brutalism and wedges became the
predominant aesthetics in architecture and car
manufacturing, respectively. The fact that you would be
joining an illustrious club of owners that has included
Graham Greene and Mike Hailwood only serves to clinch the
deal.
