The Maserati MC20: A Bit Rubbish Unless You're on a Circuit or Three Years Old

Back in the old days, a good pub question would be, 'What if you had a supercar for 30 minutes?' There'd be plenty of grunting noises, profferings of heroics around landmarks, brags of top speed runs, and almost certainly something lewd thrown into the mix. It was a nice way to pass the time. Recently, I had just that dilemma thanks to Maserati and a VERY yellow MC20. 

Maserati's Flagship Supercar

The MC20 is a glorious thing. A mid-mounted 630hp 3.0-litre turbo'd V6 sits in a gorgeous carbon tub, wrapped in an aero-optimised body that hides a sparse, purposeful interior. 0-62mph takes 2.9 seconds; if you've got an autobahn, you can hit 202mph. In this case, it was Giallo Genio (yellow with a pleasing blue flip), and as we all know, yellow cars are the best cars. Its doors open upwards; it's wide and low, and every inch is a supercar.' 

I was in leafy Surrey, where there are, probably, plenty of Modena's finest hidden in garages, oft boasted about on the finest fairways the county has to offer. As lovely as Surrey (pronounced 'Surreh') is, it is not a place to wang about in a supercar. The roads are narrow, potholed, and/or covered in speed cameras to record a momentary foot slip. Few things take the edge off of cruising in a £227,930 (£296,155 after options) motor than wincing every time a van comes the other way or having to slowly reverse to let a massive SUV go by. It becomes stressful, partly because you don't want to modify the car's shape but also because you know you're wasting its potential. 

Supercars: Beautifully Flawed

See, supercars, in general, are flawed things. Yes, they're glorious, and the world is a better place for them, but they belong on the Riviera, or in town growling at passersby, on wide sweepers, or on a track where you can hang the arse out where the only consequence is your talent running out. Supercars are a time and a place thing - you don't wear football boots to a gig, and patent leather dress shoes would be cack in a game of five aside. 

Wasting time with an MC20 is a crime. It's a big, silly supercar, and though opportunities for heroism may have been slim, I remembered who supercars are really for. The drivers play a big part, but other people get the biggest kick out of them. Especially kids. Luckily, I know people with kids, and I knew one ten minutes from where I was. I dropped a message telling his dad to be ready and slotted myself under its door. 

Comfort vs Performance

When the MC20 came out, plenty of people commented on how raw the car was. It's designed for speed, not comfort, and even with the suspension in its softest setting, it's rather harsh. It's a lightweight thing, which means there's little sound deadening to protect you from the outside world. As a consequence, every stone or lump of road muck that flies up into the wheel arches can be heard. The engine sounds rorty, inhaling gulps of air to keep its turbos happy right behind your head. Maserati's steering engineers deserve a pint, as they've found a way to feed every millimetre of the road up to your fingertips. You sit low in the cabin, and rear visibility is largely useless thanks to a pretty chunky blind spot and an engine being in the way of the rear window - though a rearview camera helps there. Bar a big screen for infotainment in the cabin; there's little to distract you. For nearly £300k, you might expect it to be dripping in leather, angel tears, and precious ambergris, but you're not paying for that sort of stuff. You're paying for engineering. 

Of course, on a dual carriageway just outside Bookham, it can feel a bit much. It reminded me, in the best possible way, of a Lotus Elise. It's the same basic formula - you feel everything, it's light on its feet, and it's a bit silly. Only here, it's much bigger and comes with CarPlay. 

Clenching my way through suburbia, I was sweating. The MC20 feels wide, a jauntily parked Clio looked like a boulder in the middle of the road, and don't get me started on all the vans prepping folded window extensions on various forever homes. Pulling up noisily, I spied a small arm waving through a window. I was rushed inside to see a brand new plastic dinosaur - the important business of the day is, and always should be, big lizards when you're three years old. Jurassic fun had, tiny shoes were popped on, as was a tiny coat, and out we went. 

Bringing Joy to a Three-Year-Old

There are some expressions that when you see them, you'll never forget - a toddler's face becoming entirely circular with a big 'wooooooooooow' is one. His dad explained that it was a special car, and he needed to be careful (dad was also, erm, surprised at a £36,240 carbon fibre pack being a thing that you can spend money on). The wee man prodded things, poked things, stared in awe at the carbon-clad engine, and marvelled at the majesty of the big yellow doors that went up rather than out. When we suggested he sit in the drivers' seat his tiny head nodded, his eyes, somehow, widened even further. 

Smiles were plastered on faces, phone pictures were taken for Mum, and our ten-minute Maserati jungle gym session was done. One final treat of the V6's start-up growl was met with big waves and bigger grins, and I bounced, rumbled, and sharply inhaled my way to base. 

A Brilliant thing (outside of Suburbia)

Were I on a track or on some big 'ol smooth European roads, I'd have eschewed other humans and made for the hills to wring the MC20's neck. But, alas, you don't find many of those in Surrey. Let's be honest; half an hour of being a knob may well be fun, but making a small person happy is far more so. Maserati's halo car is excellent on the limit, I'm sure, but the best it was that day was big, yellow, and the best thing a tiny human had ever seen. 

Apart from the dinosaur.

words by Alex Goy
photography by Maserati (not taken in leafy Surrey)