Road Test:
smart fortwo coupé passion mhd review
by David Finlay (22 October 2010)
At the risk of being pelted with stones by outraged smart fans, I have to admit that I have never been a fan of the fortwo, and still remember the sinking feeling that came over me the first time I drove one. But what do I know? In its original form the city car was known simply as a smart, and the "fortwo" name was added to distinguish it from the Mitsubishi Colt-based forfour, the roadster, the roadster-coupé and the formore, all of which were axed (before production in the case of the formore) in a massive cost-cutting exercise a few years ago. The fortwo was the only model to survive, so it must have more going for it than I have been prepared to acknowledge.
One thing that has always impressed me about the car is the interior space. When I told people after this test that I had been driving a fortwo, they pondered on my six foot threeness and decided that I must be paltering with the truth, since they could not imagine anyone of my size fitting inside. Well, in fact there is no problem with this at all. There is far more room in there than anyone who has not experienced a fortwo could guess. From either of the seats the effect is of sitting in a large saloon which happens to have been prematurely curtailed just behind your shoulders and ahead of your feet.
There is also more luggage room than you might expect. The official figure is 220 litres, measured up to the window line, which is actually quite a bit more than you get in a MINI hatchback or a Fiat 500. Of course, in the smart you can't fold down the rear seat to create extra space because there isn't a rear seat to fold down, though if you keep piling up the luggage to roof level the capacity increases to 340 litres.
Despite all the talk of safety cells and other protective aids, the extreme lack of length still makes me feel vulnerable, though I'm encouraged by the way the fortwo handles these days. The first smart I ever drove seemed as keen to fall over as it looked, and I wasn't surprised to hear that owners referred to the traction control system as a "pothole detector", since it had to be called into action in situations which would not have given most conventional cars any reason to panic.
Things have moved on, though, and these days the fortwo seems far more stable on the open road. In town, of course, it's exceptionally easy to drive thanks to its light controls (though you have to pay an extra £310 for power steering), its semi-automatic gearbox (which, however, remains a pain because it seems to take such an age to move from one ratio to the next) and its exceptional lack of length.
There is no shortage of engine choices in the smart range, including an 84bhp one-litre petrol, the 102bhp 1.1-litre version in the Brabus and a 54bhp 799cc diesel which has the astonishingly low CO2 figure of 86g/km. Although more economical, the diesel is no cheaper to tax than the fourth engine, the 71bhp petrol unit reviewed here, because this is the one with the micro hybrid drive system (or mhd, as it's known) which brings the CO2 rating down to 97g/km and therefore makes the car exempt from Vehicle Excise Duty and, following a recent announcement on the subject, the London Congestion Charge.
mhd cuts out the engine when the driver is using the brakes and the car's speed drops below 5mph, so you can sit there not using fuel and not emitting anything as long as you keep your foot on the brake pedal. As soon as you release the pedal the engine fires up again, so to get the full benefit you have to risk irritating the drivers behind by shining the brake lights into their faces. Still, it all helps, and although you can disable the mhd system by flicking a switch on the centre console I'm not sure why anyone would want to.
The cheapest fortwo of all is a 71bhp model, but that's the entry-level pulse. The better-equipped passion is £800 more expensive at £9580, though in the exact form tested here, with various options, it comes in at £10,495. (If you're reading this article after January 2011 I should point out that it was written in the Good Old Days, when men were men and the VAT rate was a palty 17.5%. Obviously, my friends of the future, the car costs more in your time.)
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