Why The Maserati MC Stradale Is The Biggest Motoring Cliché Ever

I’m probably wearing a quizzical expression as I study the key which has just been handed over to me. It’s a fairly ordinary-looking, flip-out thing, but there’s a little trident logo on one side. And that’s a big deal, because that signifies that this is a key to a Maserati.

Despite the company churning out a series of utter dogs in its time, it’s still one of the most special, most beguiling brands in the automotive world. Not to mention one of the oldest: the company had already been around 33 years by the time a certain chap called Enzo founded a now rather famous car firm in Maranello.

So, to have one in front of me, and to be holding the key, is rather special. Especially considering this is the finest car in Maserati’s line-up: the Gran Turismo MC Stradale. Despite attempting to appear professional in front of the delivery driver, I can’t help but grin. I mean, come on, there’s a bloody Maserati cutting a rather distinctive shape on my driveway.

And what a fine shape it is. Up close, the wheelbase looks a lot longer than I’d been expecting, but then again, it does actually have four proper seats inside (and I have tested those seats with regular, full-size adults). It’s all low and squat at the front thanks to a hefty splitter, with its curvaceous posterior ending in a delectable flick of a boot spoiler, all coming to give it a purposeful, aggressive stance. And even though it’s a pain to shoot a dark-coloured car, I don’t care: this Gran Truismo looks stunning in Grigio Grantino with graphite wheels; the darkness interrupted only by a set of bright yellow brake callipers.

While the outside is unquestionably gorgeous, as I position myself behind the wheel for first time, I find that the interior is less comely. There are lashings of Alcantara (good) but a centre console littered in tiny buttons (bad). It’s all rather dated in here (reinforced by the sat nav, which is rubbish), a reminder that the standard Gran Turismo upon which this is based is now eight years old.

Fortunately, all this is forgotten with a twist of the key. The 4.7-litre, naturally-aspirated V8 barks into life, letting out an excitable blast of revs. If you have a lot of early starts and don’t like angering your neighbours, then this isn’t a car for you.

As I gingerly manoeuvre off the drive - being careful not to clout the MC’s considerable rump on any nearby immovable objects - one thing becomes abundantly clear: the gearbox is heavily flawed. It’s not a dual-clutch ‘box, nor is it a conventional automatic with a torque converter. No, it’s a robotised manual, and it’s old hat.

The SMG-equipped BMW E46 M3, Lamborghini Gallardo E-Gear and Ferrari F430 all used such a system. And what links those cars? They’ve all been replaced by cars that used proper DCTs. Few manufacturers still use such an arrangement, and it’s not hard to see why: with the Gran Turismo set to auto mode, low-speed shifting is massively inconsistent, going from being just a little mushy to full on lurching. It’s horrible.

But, as with the dated interior, the MC Stradale delivers another salvo of infectious charm that makes me forgive the naff transmission. I’m venturing out of town now, giving me the chance to pull back a couple of times on the left hand paddle - a generously proportioned carbonfibre item shaped just like the one in Maserati’s MC Trofeo race car - and see just what happens. The answer is lots of speed, and lots of noise.

Despite having around 100kg shaved off compared to the regular Maserati GT, the MC still weighs over 1700kg. But the 444bhp and 376lb ft on offer does a good job of overcoming the bulk, getting you from 0-62mph in 4.6 seconds. And the noise, good lord the noise. It sounds incredible no matter what the engine speed: at low revs it gargles, in the mid range it barks, and as you hurtle towards the 7500rpm red line, it goes into a full-on scream.

Then, I get to do something I’ve been rather looking forward to: punch the ‘race’ button’. Suddenly, the throttle is more responsive, the gear change time drops to just 60 milliseconds and - most importantly - a flap in the exhaust opens, letting yet more V8 shrieks rip through the air around me.

A couple of downshifts later - each resulting in an explosive blip of the engine - and I give the right-hand pedal a jolly good hoof. The needle spins wildly up to the peak power mark, and I’m treated to an almighty punch in the back as the semi-auto ‘box violently rams home another cog. Another burst of power, and once more there’s a bloody great thump from the car’s innards as cogs are swapped. This transaxle gearbox is so unashamedly brutal when you’re at maximum attack, it’s almost amusing.

I’m unsure how much I like the psychotic gear changes - even if the masochistic part of me sees the appeal - but again, the MC has another trick up its sleeve to placate my woes: it’s properly good to drive. The worry with a GT car being turned into a sports car is that you’ll end up with something horribly compromised that doesn’t successfully emulate either sort of vehicle, but this Maserati is one of those cars with a split personality.

It’s spacious, comfortable and rides respectably under normal driving conditions, but still responds jolly well when you poke it with a big stick. It’s the stick poking I’m doing right now, and it really is delivering the goods.

It rolls a bit more than I’d been expecting, but then that’s how it’s been kept comfortable without the presence of adjustable dampers. And the roll doesn’t matter: the softness isn’t excessive, and it means even on the bumpiest back roads, it never feels like it’s wildly skating about. Plus, the way the chassis intimately communicates through your buttocks is utterly joyous.

The steering’s good at the whole feedback thing too, but the most important takeaway is just how lively it feels. And in an exciting way, not in a ‘I might crash into a giant fireball at any given moment’ sort of deal, even if you do have to be wary of a slightly loose rear-end. The one bugbear from this exciting driving personality? The Pirelli P Zero Corsa tyres, which have a nasty habit of tram-lining.

Despite the constant to-ing and fro-ing between genuine ecstasy and frustrating fault finding, I’m already falling for the Gran Turismo MC Stradale. The noise it makes, the way it drives, how it looks, the fact it’s Italian and that badge on the bonnet; it all comes together to provide something many fast cars simply cannot deliver: an experience.

"Yes, you could get a faster, sharper car for the money, but that's besides the point"

Yes, you could get a faster, sharper car for the money. It’s tricky to pinpoint an exact rival, but things like BMW M6s and even Jaguar F-Type Rs - if you don’t mind losing those generously proportioned rear seats - offer considerably more power and modernity for a hell of a lot less than the MC’s £110,135 price tag. And if you wanted to go more towards the sporty than GT end of the spectrum, that £110k would buy you a very nice Porsche 911. But that’s besides the point.

None of those cars can hold a candle to this Gran Turismo’s charisma. To its badge. To its lust factor. To its noise. It’s proof that there’s a lot of truth in the well-worn cliché that suggests flawed brilliance is superior to perfection: that the better car isn’t always the better car. That’s why it gets under your skin, and that’s why I’m itching to drive one again.