Pete Wadsworth
The Civic Type-R was the car that had given new life to the all-but dead ‘hardcore hatchback’. Odd then, given its popularity in the UK, that its replacement came to the market podgier, blingier, loaded up with gadgetry and in possession of an all-but identical i-VTEC two-litre motor. Albeit attached to a slightly shorter ratio gearbox - presumably to hide the 77kilos it had put on - and with a softened switch from ‘economy’ to ‘performance’ cam profiles. Most worryingly of all though, the new car lost its independent rear suspension in favour of a system designed to achieve two of the worst possible things in a performance car – space and cost savings. Amazing when you consider that the new car is a cool £2,500 more expensive and noticeably smaller inside than the vehicle it replaced.
Things got even stranger when Honda showed the JDM (Japanese Domestic Market) Type-R. Based on the four-door saloon version of the Civic, this car is a massive 68kilos lighter than ‘our’ one, has an extra 25bhp, a limited slip differential and a shell that is a staggering 50 per cent stiffer than the UK spec car. It will be faster, more capable and more fun.
A group test was definitely in order.
Unfortunately, this is a car Honda will not be bringing to the UK – which makes such a test a bit difficult. Thank goodness for Ian Litchfield then, who is not only making the JDM Type-R available and legal for the UK, but was also kind enough to offer Crash.net the first UK drive.
Despite the unpromising spec-sheet (1 extra bhp to haul an extra 77kilos?) after a few miles in the new UK Type-R, a few things become immediately apparent. First of all, the change to a torsion beam set up at the rear appears to have done no harm to the handling whatsoever – turn-in is good, it grips hard, corners flat and tail follows top with a complete lack of drama or fuss – it’s hard to bring the rear end into play but, who cares really? This is a road car, not a track star.
Secondly, the controls are clearly going to be a highlight – the steering has an immediacy and feel that the old car’s helm simply couldn’t get close to; the gearbox is a glorious piece of engineering – fantastically precise and short of throw – and the floor-mounted throttle pedal and well-judged brakes are better than any of its contemporaries.
Thirdly, the engine feels great and, when you thrash it, sounds glorious. Turbochargers can mute exhaust notes and dull throttle responses, but Honda’s resolute stance on natural aspiration means the VTEC lump feels crisp, responsive, eager and once the VTEC light starts blinking it howls its way towards the 8,000rpm redline, feeling only slightly numbed by the portly car it’s hauling along.
Slow down though, and things seem to fall apart at the seams. Impressive body control suddenly becomes a bone-shaking, seemingly under-damped ride that succeeds in making several of my passengers over the week feel sick. It rocks from front to back and side to side, crashing over potholes and, occasionally, scraping its chin on speed bumps. Attack a bumpy road and the nose jitters across the surface, struggling to smooth the bumps and, worse still, failing to keep the wheels pressed into the road – tell-tale TC light flickering incessantly - it’s only when I get out again that I realise how absurdly low this car is. And, once you come off the VTEC high, calm down and check the trip computer (then double and triple check at the pumps) you realise that you’ve only been returning 15 miles for every gallon of super unleaded you put in the tank. A morning of driving like a stoned grandma reveals that even the most cautious right foot will return a best of 32mpg, and a realistic combined cycle of motorways, country lanes, A-roads and town driving gives a best of 24mpg. Simply not good enough. Also back in the real world, the spoiler obscures what’s going on behind you so successfully, you can’t help but wonder if they deliberately chose the most annoying place to put the blasted thing.
The Championship White Type-R Litchfield’s given us looks brilliant. Purposeful, tight and aggressive: like a BTCC car with the stickers taken off. But, there’s no doubt that it fails to match the visual drama of the UK car. It sits higher on its suspension and, if I’m honest, looks like it’s a couple of generations behind the silver motor.
Climbing aboard is a revelation though. The first thing that strikes you is the weight of the door, or rather the lack of it. Even though it’s much shorter than the three-door’s the difference is still stunning and is certainly an indicator of the Jap car’s more focussed remit. It’s more spacious, airy and, in spite of the lower grade plastics, is a perfectly acceptable place to be. I must confess to being a bit worried that today won’t tell the whole story though, it’s wet and the tyres fitted to this car are a touch on the extreme side – aggressive, track-biased rubber.
The JDM car does without much of the UK version’s space-aged dashboard, settling for a conventional rev counter, although it retains the pointless shift-up indicators (too dim to catch in your peripheral vision), chavvy VTEC light and digital speedo. The steering wheel is unchanged, which is a good thing: it’s a great size and very well-finished. The seats are the same too, strike a well judged balance between comfort and support and are covered in high quality, high-grip fabric. Undoubtedly the highlight of the cabin.
Put your foot on the clutch, press the starter button and, somewhat unsurprisingly, it sounds identical to the UK motor, although it is a touch louder at idle. You get the same short-travel clutch and smashing ‘box as the UK car and, at normal speeds, the two cars feel remarkably (uncomfortably) similar.
Olly Clanford (serving as a second opinion) and I find ourselves a decent road and play a quick game of cat and mouse, with Olly chasing in the British car. Unfortunately the cat seems to have got its tail caught, because I drop him like he’s standing still.
From the off, most things feel fairly similar – steering and pedals are both pretty-much identical in feel. The JDM ride is still hard, but feels more compliant and better executed than it does in the UK car and, despite the hardcore rubber, there’s plenty of traction: the LSD makes pulling out of slow corners a cinch and it stays far more convincingly hooked up than the UK car. There’s no pawing across the road surface, very little camber hunting and the steering remains neutral around the straight-ahead – even under heavy acceleration. Turn-in is even sweeter than in the UK car and the grip the Bridgestones are giving up in these, frankly rubbish, conditions is as surprising as it is outright impressive. It quickly becomes clear that this is a much more focussed drivers’ car (despite the extra doors) and a far more willing partner (despite the UK car’s impressive high-speed manners) than the Type-R that appears in official Honda show rooms.
Swapping back to the UK car the reasons for my rapid progress in the Japanese come into focus – following Olly through the bends its clearly visible that not only can you brake later in the JDM car, you can come off the brakes earlier, carry more speed to the apex and get back on the gas even sooner at the other end. Basically, it’s better in every part of the corner and, to really try your patience when you’re chasing, even quicker down the straight.
Understeer becomes a factor much sooner and at lower speed in Swindon’s effort, even though the tyres fitted to this car are clearly more UK-weather biased, but the problem is certainly exacerbated by trying to follow in the eminently more capable wake of the Japanese car. It’s immensely frustrating when you can hear the car in front climbing up the revs as you’re left waiting, waiting, waiting for the road to straighten before you can plant it.
Olly seems to agree with my assessment: “I should admit at this point that I was a bit of a fan of the previous generation Civic Type R: whilst other 'hot' hatches were on a bit of an eating binge, piling on the pounds with long, pointless spec lists and an ever decreasing emphasis on driving pleasure, the Type-R was a focused, high-revving little terror.
“The basic model didn't even come with air-conditioning and the only luxury was a frighteningly bad CD player, but it didn't matter one bit. Once you were planted in the tight seats, considering whether you should find somewhere to buy some earplugs, the last thing on your mind was the lack of heated seats and CD changer.
“I had high hopes for the new version, which looked awesome in the pictures but, having driven it, I'm not sure if I like what it's become. In fact, I'm just not quite sure what it wants to be. I'm not complaining about the way it looks, it's well equipped and – if it weren’t for that ride – comfortable, with great seats and a very funky interior. But that's not what the Type-R should be about. There’s just something missing.”
I thought I could have been ultra-critical because I was also so taken by the previous Type-R, but driving the Japanese car has confirmed everything I suspected. As soon as I sat in it, it was clear that it’s more closely related to its predecessor. Everything is tighter and more precise. It feels more track-focussed and the JDM version is clearly the purer driving experience. As you might expect, the lower weight really makes a difference .
The British car then, presents you with a choice if you want it as an everyday driver, which is what it pertains to be: burn a hole in your pocket, or wear a hole in your spinal cord? Thrash it, and it’s good. Potter around and it will drive you round the bend. Despite of this, it never gives you enough when you drive it hard to forgive it that low speed ride.
The Japanese car, on the other hand, has a much more obvious intent. It’s sharper, harder, faster and a lot more fun. You don’t worry about getting jiggled about around town because you know that its main purpose is to thrill you when the going gets twisty – and, more importantly, when you do push it; it really delivers. It doesn’t try to trick you into thinking it’s supposed to be comfortable by having cruise control and a heated screen. It doesn’t try to fool you into thinking it’s a ‘premium’ car by having indicators in the wing mirrors, fifteen cup holders and a futuristic dashboard. There are no confused messages coming from Japan’s version. There are plenty coming from the Brit.
Britain’s Type-R has had two karate lessons, but wears a black belt. Japan’s Type-R is Ip Chun.
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