Some of my earliest automotive memories are of riding in Dad's '74 Malibu Classic. It was a jade-green coupe with a white vinyl roof, and my brother and I would fight each other for who would ride on the parcel shelf below the rear window. A lot has changed since the mid-'70s — my parents would surely be pulled over and shot on site today for allowing their toddlers to meander unrestrained in the back of a moving car — when General Motors was still the biggest carmaker on the planet and Chevy was its top brand. No one questioned my father's blind loyalty to the General back then.
Unlike my father, I have never owned a GM car, let alone a succession of them. By the time I started driving, the Japanese were building cars that were cheaper, more reliable, and far more efficient, while the Europeans were changing minds about performance, handling, and luxury (i.e., it wasn't about velour anymore). GM wasn't the only Detroit carmaker to lose ground to the imports, but the infamous bureaucracy that was the world's largest corporation meant that change always came too little and too late. And the truth is, most of the "new" product it eventually coughed up was sorely lacking in emotional appeal — Luminas, Achievas, Uplanders, and so many others were deeply unsatisfying machines. The company that once gave us such styling icons as the '57 Bel-Air and the '63 Corvette Stingray was now serving up the automotive equivalent of a yellow can with "cling peaches" printed in plain black letters. The mentality that pervaded GM's product development department in the late '70s through the '90s could be summed up as follows: "We've got dealers in every small town in America, so it doesn't matter if we make third- or fourth-rate products. The dogs will still eat the dog food."
A couple years ago, thanks to the influence of vice chairman Bob Lutz, some light started to shine from the dark end of GM's product tunnel. Vehicles like Pontiac's Solstice, Buick's Enclave, Cadillac's CTS, the Corvette Z06, and the new GMT900 platform (Suburban/Tahoe/Silverado/etc.) have critics convinced the General has replaced half its accounting staff with designers. But as groundbreaking as those cars and trucks are, they still don't cut to the high-volume heart of the general consumer market — the mid-size sedan. That's where the new Malibu comes in.
The recently released 2008 Malibu is supposed to be the car that makes Chevy a serious contender once again in this important segment. Initial indicators are strong: GM reports that sales of the Malibu (and Cadillac's all-new CTS) led its impressive January up tick, even as Toyota, Honda, Nissan, Ford, and Chrysler posted declines. Also, the car has been showered with one accolade after another. But I'm skeptical of car-of-the-century type awards handed out by publishers who not only want desperately to see the hometown hero on top, but who also need those large advertising contracts to keep their pages on the newsstands in the changing media landscape. So I booked one for myself.
In my view, the Malibu had to tug at three heartstrings to be viable as a true world-class competitor: styling that reminds me why GM once led the world; driving dynamics that don't recall a first-generation Caravan; and attention to the little details that, if not perfect, cry out for a fix. These criteria are in addition to all the left-brain issues consumer magazines like to analyze to death — cargo volume, passenger space, fuel economy, number of cupholders — because not all buying decisions are based strictly on logic. At some point there has to be emotional appeal as well. In fact, if I had let logic win out over emotion, I probably wouldn't have ended up buying half the cars I've owned so far.
When it comes to styling, the Malibu is a welcome departure from other, more recent Chevys. Its bold, bulging hood hints at the brand's pre-WWII look without seeming "retro." The rear end is modern and distinctive, with an integrated taillight treatment that shuns the stretched-down-the-fender lamps found on competitors. In between those two ends is lean, taut sheetmetal that lacks both the fussy creases and curves of many modern sedans and the overdone gingerbread of past GM models. A low roof with a fast rear window gives the impression of length much the same way it did on a '67 Impala.
The Malibu's interior features still more styling cues that seem inspired by the past. The best example is the dashboard's dual-cowl design, which looks, to my eye, like an evolution of the '63 Corvette's. The dual arcs sweep deeply into the dash, separated by a ridge that becomes the center stack for the radio and ventilation controls. This allows not only for a two-tone color treatment, but also the opportunity to work in some tasteful, if fake, wood trim. The instrument cluster is a trio of round gauges that recalls the '57 Bel-Air. Despite all the cues from a variety of past models, the look is entirely modern and cohesive, and it absolutely blows away the bland interiors of cars like the Accord and Camry. And while the tactile quality of the Malibu's materials certainly could be mildly improved, they don't feel as plasticky as, say, the Altima's.
Overall, the Malibu is a styling triumph. But how does it drive? It should come as no surprise that the 3.6-liter V6 in my LTZ model makes the kind of low-end torque that distinguishes American family sedans. Power delivery has long been America's strong suit; the problem has always been the dishrag chassis. Not so with the new Malibu. The body is stiff, providing a solid platform on which to mount a capable and evolved suspension. As a result, the Malibu has a firm ride that feels more European than domestic or Asian. Potholes and pavement seams draw attention to this, but I'm not sure I would dial it back any for comfort's sake. After all, the corollary of its firm ride is that the Malibu feels nimble and responsive, especially for a family cruiser. The steering has been through the same training regimen as the suspension, with good communication and fairly natural weight at the wheel. The only area GM overlooked is torque steer, which still finds its way into the experience any time the throttle is floored. Still, compared with the Camry, whose rear end lightens up spookily with quick weight transfers (as in emergency brake-and-steer situations), the Malibu is incredibly composed.
Okay, so two out of three is looking pretty good, but what about the little details? Sadly, this is where the Malibu starts to fall off its pedestal a bit. There are strides forward for sure. Take the trunk, for example: Its articulated hinge frees up additional cargo space compared with a conventional C-hinge and is a fine example of the new GM's reluctance to take a shortcut in the interest of cost. The fully carpeted trunk lid with a large pull strap also shows the will to go the extra mile. But the short deck and shallow drop to the bumper result in a fairly small opening that limits the size and shape of items that will fit into an otherwise spacious hold. Lutz has always prioritized styling over ultimate practicality, and the Malibu's trunk is one area where utility takes a literal back seat.
The interior is full of minor oversights. The optional leather interior is short on hides and long on vinyl; the rear seat in particular features less actual leather than a pair of sandals, causing my daughter's booster seat to squeak relentlessly. The seat-heater switches are mounted at the base of each front seat, out of plain sight and in an awkward space between your thigh and the door panel, making them almost impossible to use intuitively. The interior, while bristling with the kind of visual flair that made buyers flock to GM in the '50s and '60s, loses out to Honda and Toyota (whose cars you can operate blindfolded from one model to the next, one generation after another) for intuitiveness and ease of use.
So, has the new Malibu restored my faith in General Motors? I find myself answering that question indirectly in the parking lot of my local Wal-Mart, cornered by the owner of the Honda Odyssey next to me.
"How d'ya like that Malibu?" he asks as soon as I get out. "I've been thinking about replacing my Accord with one."
I answer him honestly, the only way I know how. "It's very impressive; probably as good as your Accord for less money. You should definitely check one out. You will be surprised."
The only question lingering in my mind is whether "as good as" is good enough.
