Tuesday, January 30, 2018

Elon Musk's Flamethrower is a Roofing Torch in Cosplay Disguise

Elon Musk's Flamethrower is a Roofing Torch in Cosplay Disguise

by Marrs

Elon Musk only just announced the ability to preorder a very Star Wars-looking flamethrower as a promotional gadget for his Boring Company tunnel-building venture, and so far the news has been aflutter with how many units have been sold (8,000 units), the value of those units ($4-million+), and how one California politician is already working to institute a ban on the gadgets.

One thing that seems overlooked so far is determining what exactly these things are? Is this a true "flamethrower" in the traditional sense or a rich-guy plaything to purchase on a whim? The answer is both, and not both at the same time. It is technically a flamethrower of course because it.... ummm... throws flames, BUT, the ATF generally defines a flamethrower as a device that can shoot a flame over 10-feet and regulates such devices as weapons. This one only forces a flame out about 1-4 feet if we base our judgement on Elon Musk's own Instagram posts showing him playing with the device in the corridors of one of his companies (possibly Space-X given the large Earth and Mars images that dominate the wall behind him).

What these devices appear to be in actuality are roofing torches used to heat and lay down tar and other roofing materials by heating them enough so they adhere in all temperatures, but outfitted with a specially-built shell that gives them the appearance of futuristic assault weapons. (Interestingly, this is also what the propmakers of Starship Troopers did to achieve their Morita Assault Rifle, they simply built fiberglass hard-cases that fit right over a functioning factory stock Ruger Mini 1.)

While roofing torches can be had for as little as $30 for your bog-standard Harbor Freight Death Inducer™, tho really pro-level units cost upwards of $400, so you can see that the markups involved in creating these fire-puking gadgets isn't really too severe when you consider the uniqueness of the item and the fact that some people pay far more than the $500 asking price on replica light sabres that, let me remind you, do not have the ability to burn a hole through your boss' office wall.

Cool stuff Elon! 

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

The Cars of Good Burger

The Cars of Good Burger
by Marrs

There are a handful of films in cinema history that are remembered almost exclusively for the cars that were featured in them... Bullit. The French Connection. Gone In Sixty Seconds. Good Burger. The Italian Job. You get the idea, each one is a suitable candidate for the Criterion Collection treatment. I’m singling out one of these today because, while just as beloved by car culture afficianados as the rest, this film has somehow escaped the detailed analysis of it's vehicular cast that every other film has been subjected to in the years since their releases. Please join me as we explore… The Cars of Good Burger.

Good Burger is a 1997 teen comedy that tells the story of Ed (Kel Mitchell), a seemingly slow-witted but well-meaning teenager who works at a local burger joint, and Dexter (Kenan Thompson) who gets a new summer job at the same place in order to pay down a debt he owes one of his Hgh School teachers for damaging his car in an early on-screen escapade. It gets pretty ridiculous from there, and be forewarned it's a spinoff from a Nickelodeon series, but it’s arguably more entertaining when translated to the big screen.

I already knew the Producers were gear heads when I saw a gold-hued Mercedes W123 sedan quickly roll past in the background as Ed first opens the front doors of Good Burger. In filmmaking, things like this are never left to chance, on a controlled street shoot every vehicle would have been specifically chosen ahead of time, rented from a “Movie Car” supplier of choice, delivered via flatbed trucks, equipped with a driver, prepped, cued, and filmed as part of that sequence.

Only minutes later we see Dexter driving a red 1995 Nissan 300zx 2+2 that is quickly identified as being “borrowed” from his mother when his friend in the passenger seat asks, “She let’s you drive this when she’s out of town?” to Dexter's curt reply, “Nope!”

Shortly after, and while driving exactly like you would expect a pre-licensed teenager to drive such a vehicle, Dexter is forced to suddenly swerve to avoid hitting a kid on in-line skates (who we can see is Ed, but Dexter only realizes this later in the film after befriending him) and crashes into the black 1993 Infiniti J30 being piloted by one of his teachers, Mr. Wheat (Sinbad).

We will take pause here to acknowledge & honor Sinbad’s wardrobe in this movie, a light handed pastiche of 70’s-ish style but perpetrated almost entirely our of what looks like an adult Halloween Hippie costume you’d find at Parties Are Us World. His tunic is further embellished with sequins and hand-Sharpied™ with an upside down peace symbol & random phrases in the least professional bit of costuming you’re likely to see this side of a regional children’s theatre production. It really goes over-the-top in that way that kids and stoners mutually enjoy, and perfectly complements Sinbad’s laugh line, ““Brother Reed, you have messed up my Afro!”

After Sinbad explains that, “This is a $22,000 car!” Dexter is forced into a deal whereby he has to get a summer job at the same Good Burger where Ed works, while still not realising Ed was the cause of this whole mess to begin with, in order to raise the funds to pay for the repairs.

While Dexter is at Good Burger applying for a job, the Manager Mr. Bailey (Dan Schneider) asks, “Any accidents on your record?” to which Dexter slyly responds, “Not to your knowledge.” Genius.

The lines delivered throughout this film are truly worthy of recognition, such is their perfection. Among my favorites is the interaction between Ed and Dexter when Dexter is told he needs to drive the Burgermobile to make deliveries. “Think you can handle it?” Ed asks… Dexter responds, “I don't know, I’ve never driven a sandwich before.”

The Burgermobile itself is a thing of wonder and amazement. A 1976 AMC Pacer outfitted in the propmaster’s best including a burger and onion motif, with pickle slices as wheel covers and french fries for bumpers and wiper arms, it's really right up there with the Bladerunner Police Spinner design in terms of reverence among the film’s fans.

Interestingly, the Burger Museum in Daytona Beach, Florida now owns the original Burger Mobile and is seeking donations for it's restoration.

Right at the 22:00 minute mark there is a transition cut where we see a small white car driving slowly past Good Burger, but I have not been able to identify it. It looks oddly Japanese AND British in styling, or maybe even Australian??? Help me out?

(UPDATE: Our own Evan Paul identified the mystery car as a Fit 124 Sport Coupe, well done!)

A few moments later comes another terrific scene, where the acting would bring even Michael Caine to his knees, when Spatch the cook is inspecting a rival burger from the new place opening across the street, he jabs his spatula beneath the patty, lifts it's obvious mass with some difficulty and watches in shame as it's heft starts to bend the handle, turns in agony and self-defeat, grunting displeasure with both the circumstances and his own inadequacies, vocalizing in Chewbacca-like tones as he exits the scene. The role of “Spatch” was played by Ron Lester, who later famously starred in Varsity Blues and passed away in June of 2016.

Directly afterwards comes this classic exchange among the staff,
“How do they do it?!?!”
“They just use more meat.”
“Awwww, poor cows.”
“I can always feed my mother cat food.”

Also, what’s up with the song that goes “feel my desire…” randomly showing up throughout the movie in the most random spots??? Maybe it's the Wilhelm Scream of this particular film.

Later, the boys confiscate a Divco Ice Cream truck for yet another madcap street mauling.

When it's all said and done and the evil guys from the rival Mondo Burger get shut down and all the baddies are arrested, Sinbad delivers his estimate to Dexter for final compensation, and just as all seems ready to be tied up in a nice little package of resolution, the giant Hamburger mascot falls from the roof and crushes Sinbad’s freshly restored Infinity.

Good Burger has a 63% Rotten Tomatoes audience score (fuck the critic’s paltry 32% rating, what movie WERE they watching???). It was rather appropriately filmed in West Covina, California, which, if you know the areas around LA, it fits rather well the “built in the 90’s” suburbia-dreamscape that matches the film's aesthetic.

Good Burger man, Good Burger.

Tuesday, December 19, 2017

UAZ For It, You Got It, With This Low-tech Russian Fever Dream

UAZ For It, You Got It, With This Low-tech Russian Fever Dream

by Evan Paul

The toaster on stilts that’s been romping around Russia for the past half-century never seems to die. A product of the Soviet collective, the UAZ “Classic” commercial vehicle, formerly known as the UAZ-452, still makes an appearance on new car lots in the eastern hemisphere. Unlike the home of the Big Mac, these regions lack the law books that prevent drivers’ legs from being part of a vehicle’s framework. As a result, the beloved Bukhanka (Russian for “loaf of bread”) will leave you crawling should you encounter a bear at speed. Speed is a generous way to put it, as the big-bore 2.7 liter four coughs out a meager 112-horses. Thankfully these horses aren’t saddled with a filthy slushbox; the only way to reign them in is through a five speed manual mated to a bona-fide four wheel drive system. The transmission isn’t the only manual feature that comes standard on the UAZ Classic, though. Count on growing a pair of Popeye’s grotesque forearms should you keep those additional rubles tucked away under your ushanka, as hydraulic power steering is the sole option.

The version that tugs at my heartstrings most is simply dubbed Farmer. This agricultural namesake takes the front-heavy appearance of a cab chassis to another dimension. The three door cab with room for five sits over the engine and looks ready to faceplant at any moment. Wearing an expression of constant agony, the handsome looks of the Farmer are rounded out by a “tented platform” that’s plopped on the back of its gangly framework. Perfect for hauling potatoes or black market human organs over the roughest of landscapes, this cargo area means the Farmer can make the most of its hefty 2300+ pound payload capacity that puts some full-size Americans to shame.

Now one might ask why anyone would want an antiquated appliance like the goofy looking Farmer? The fact that it seems ready to collapse upon itself should a stray shopping cart blow too-near in a passing breeze is only part of the appeal! The exposed under-seat heater, metal dashboard, and center-mounted speedometer are brazenly resistant to modern design trends, creating an incredibly eye-catching package that’s unlike any other vehicle on the market today. Should the 25-year import rule be abolished, a new bread loaf of my own would soon be in my driveway for a menial four-digit price.

       Price: 487,000 Rubles = $8,283 USD at today's exchange rates. 



Monday, December 11, 2017

InstaQuickie: One Wheel Peel


When you come to a stop and have to rip through three gears worth of wheel spin in front of a cop to get moving again
#2wd #rwd #c1500 #5speed #savethemanuals

(InstaQuickie is a new series featuring of-the-moment, happening right-now, posts from our resident Masshole, Evan Paul. See ALL of his InstaGram posts at @Evan_Paul_

Sunday, October 1, 2017

Dear Hugh Hefner, I’m Sorry I Snuck Into Your House

Dear Hugh Hefner, I’m Sorry I Snuck Into Your House
by Marrs

It was the spring of 2002 and I was entertaining visitors from Canada who were guests in my home in the Hancock Park area of Los Angeles. While coming back from a late lunch, our mutual attention was grabbed by a new Bentley Arnage outfitted with “Gumball 3000” decals and emblazoned with sponsors, followed closely by a likewise-liveried Ferrari, then another exotic and another followed until this less-than-subtle convoy passed by completely. My guests had no idea what was going on as I whipped my supercharged Mercedes W202 around right there in the middle of Hollywood Blvd., and gave chase. We didn't travel far, stopping at a hotel near the Hollywood & Highland shopping mall at that same storied intersection. We parked and approached a large group of douchily-dressed Eurotrash and new-monied young Americans, who began surrounding a table helmed by a serious-looking woman with a clipboard. Clipboards are never good people. 

One of my friends snagged a pamphlet from the table and we soon realized we were at the very last stop of that year’s Gumball 3000 cross-country rally, this one from NYC to LA, and here we observed preparations for the teams to receive their invites to the closing event to be held at the Playboy Mansion. The pamphlet turned out to be the official route book, issued to every team, and each contained a page for every stop along the way where the route book would receive an official stamp indicating the successful completion of that stage. Without ALL of these stamps, there was no entry to the party.

At the time, I was working with a Director friend on various types of documentaries, ranging from band expose´s to following around crime scene cleanup crews, so the concept of making our way past those infamous Playboy Mansion gates to record the debauchery within, even in a less-than-authorized manner, was an overwhelming urge. I called my Director buddy, (I’ll use initials only for the sake of their privacy) “V”, and another friend, “R”, who I knew as a McGuyver-like entity from my younger days who could sham, scam, or scheme his way into anywhere. While V worked to assemble the necessary camera and sound equipment, R arrived at the hotel and we begun to plot out entry into this party.

In short order, we had a plan. I walked up to the table lady and asked for my credentials, with R standing just behind her and peeking over her shoulder. As she searched the list for my name, he scanned the pages for a name he could make out and remember. After a few minutes she apologized but dismissed me as unwelcome without being on the sacred list. I sulked but walked away, knowing we already had a path forward. I reconvened with R on the sidelines and he gave me the name of some reporter he noticed on the “Press” list, which was perfect since we would be carrying around cameras and a boom mic. One major problem still stood in our way, we didn't have the stamps. R said, “I’ve got this” and disappeared for about an hour while I waited for V to arrive with our equipment.

Our Canadian guests were taken back to my place where they would be less bored, and more importantly, where they could act as our “get out of jail” card should things go totally sideways. Would the Hollywood police station even accept Monopoly money? 

By this time, shuttle buses were arriving to take guests the 20-minute drive to the far end of Beverly Hills where the Mansion sits, bordering Bel Air, and just as we began to wonder if this was going to even work at all, R showed up with a smile as big as the Hollywood Hills themselves. He proudly opened the route book to show that it was now completely stamped from beginning to end. I asked how the Hell did he manage this trick and he producer a large art eraser that he had meticulously carved into the shape of the official seal, broke open several various colored ink pens, and then used their contents to stamp each page with the correct color. Damn, was he ever the man for this job! 
This time V approached and used the booklet to obtain passes for us, acting as the camera and sound guys, and even managed to grab a coveted third invite for our “field producer.”

We boarded the shuttle van without incident, and thankfully the rally participants were already too far down the path of intoxication to note our presence, busy boasting, catcalling other attendees, and generally speaking far louder than they realized as rich, drunk assholes are wont to do. 

As we passed through the heavily secured gates of the Playboy Mansion the air of infamy set upon us as the main house came into view, elegantly lighted on a warm spring evening. We disembarked up front where a semi-circle of exotics bordered a massive fountain, and walked through a patio area towards the famous Grotto where the sound of music and cast of multi-colored lights lured us. On the way, Steve-O, still riding high at the time as a star of MTV’s Jackass show, saw our cameras and couldn’t resist talking to us. R, V, and I all looked at one-another and we powered up our equipment and started to film. “This is it, we’re doing this” I thought to myself. Steve-O was pretty trashed already and proceeded to explain to us that “the only thing better then being invited to the Playboy Mansion was getting kicked out of the Playboy Mansion.” I don’t know how all that worked out for him. 

We moved ahead, spotting big stars and unknowns alike who perfectly captured the popular cultural tone of the era (Matthew McConaughey, Rachael Hunter, Donna Karen who made the cross-continental trek in a specially prepped Checker Cab in full NYC livery), while large-tittied women bounced around as participating men covered their awkward boners. Clothing was piled up outside the hidden Grotto pool area, who’s main access door was now shut so that the den of decadence was only accessible by swimming under a concrete span. We opted against this for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was a fear of getting stranger’s semen in our equipment and faces. 
As V filmed and I ran sound, R wandered the property. We would bump into each other throughout the evening and R explained how he happened across the private zoo that Hef maintained and we wandered around as much as we could get away with, just making it into the house to ummm, look for the bathroom, before being politely ushered back out with a stern but helpful, “the party is this way sir.”

We ate some food, filmed some fools, and surprisingly started to become rather bored. The Playboy Mansion, from what we encountered, was much like Hugh Hefner himself; old, tired, outdated, with only just enough maintenance to keep it from ceasing to exist altogether. We were fairly unimpressed and decided we had the footage and experience we had hoped for and so grabbed the next shuttle ride back to the hotel.

The footage? Well we never really got enough to do anything with it, let alone the fact that we didn't have releases signed by the attendees, so it made it’s way to V’s Director’s Reel and that’s about it. The story has lived on however, famously so among my friends and acquaintances, and the one you’re reading now was inspired by one of those visiting Canadians at that time, who texted me the day after Hef died and said, “sorry about your good friend Mr. Hefner.” 

So, if you’re seeing this Hef, I am sorry for sneaking into your home, but I feel like you would have appreciated the effort it took to do so.

All Photos: Wikimedia Commons

Friday, September 8, 2017

An American Puta in Punta Cana


An American Puta in Punta Cana

by Evan Paul

-Dominican Republic
Hopping off the 737 into the sticky heat of the Dominican sun, the unfamiliar landscape captured me for a few moments. But inevitably, my eyes drifted to my vehicular surroundings just as the gaze of a forty-something middle-classman drifts to the chest of the young waitress at a sports bar. An oddly shaped Leyland with half the cab cut away was the first to catch my gaze. Chuckling to myself, I snapped a picture and moved along with a distant hope that the automotive landscape would arouse my interests.

Departure from customs led into a lobby where dozens of employees tried to sham us into paying for a ride in their poorly maintained vans. Stopping us every two or three steps, these shysters were incredibly desperate to pocket a few pesos. I wasn’t having any of that shit. We muscled our way through the sweaty crowds and hopped into our private Hyundai H-1, which sported a stick shift much to my delight.

Screaming onto the highway with as many revs as the little diesel could muster, we merged into a sea of Hiluxes, HiAces, and many people who drove like they were high. I tried in vain to score a few photos through the strange mesh sun-screen that was peeling off the side glass. The hustle and bustle of the luggage area prevented me from grabbing a snapshot of the humble Hyundai as we gathered our belongings, but I was determined to get a few good shots during our stay.

I held up the whole gang as I stopped to scan the surrounding parking lots, grinding to a halt without notice in order to capture a few tidbits of automotive obscurity. I spent a couple days unhealthily eyeing a “customized” HiAce at the resort entrance before gathering the balls to walk over and take a picture. Despite the locals’ strange glares and my first hangover kicking in at 9am, I walked back to the air conditioned lobby with a smile on my face and my phone in hand.

The few times we left the resort, the automotive wilderness left my retinas in sorry shape. One car rental company in particular shamelessly plugged Shelby Super Snakes on their billboard while directly below lay a singular Mustang GT with a full on AutoZone chrome treatment. Stick on trim was a recurring theme, as well as tape stripes and “custom” badging.

Since our parasailing got cancelled due to weather and I got to keep my lunch, we signed up for an off road excursion instead. I had no idea what I was in for, but the prospect of whipping some sort buggy got my heart racing. The chance to make my friend scream in fear from the passenger seat put a stupid grin on my face.

The 4Runner shuttle hurried us through the city streets and stopped on the edge of a highway, where we boarded on a tired flatbed cabover that had some glorified park benches and scaffolding loosely attached to the rear. A near hour long voyage to the middle of nowhere left me confused and excited, ready to drive whatever poorly maintained contraption my fifty dollar payment allowed me to get my hands on.

I took the hot seat for the first leg of the trip, explaining the controls to my less car savvy copilot. The group leaders started the buggy by jumping a couple wires together, and after affixing our seatbelts (read: ropes) we were on our way. Giving myself a good forty feet of space between myself and the next buggy in line, I gave it the beans right from the start much to my friend’s discontent. Mud puddles were met with full throttle, soiling my glasses and my copilot’s shorts.

Due to the inebriated state of several buggy drivers, the whole group was ground to a halt every forty five seconds or so during the rough patches of terrain. Instead of waiting patiently and quietly, my eighteen-year old self thought it would be wise to repeatedly slam the gas pedal to the floor, showering the poor sap behind us with the smell of burning oil and excitement. This poor sap turned out to be my friend’s dad and his six year old sister, but that did not put a damper on my self-titled position as “Rev-It-Up Randy” for the day.

Neutral drops did not escape my mind, but the N-R-D shift pattern protested my hooligan driving tactics. A loud clicking sound accompanied by a jolt forward was the less than stellar result of my transmission torture, but the sorry thing soldiered on without a hitch.

On the way back from the gorgeous beach that marked the turnaround point, my friend and I switched roles. Hesitant to lay into it at first, he gave into to peer pressure and drove just as hard as I did during my stint at the wheel. My back was taking a beating from the hard plastic seats and sagging suspension, but that was a "tomorrow problem" in my mind.

Halfway back to the starting point, the lead buggy ran out of gas. Our buggy happened to be the closest one to them, so they decided to siphon a bit from ours. A perfectly reasonable idea, but the execution not so much. Filling up a used water bottle to the brim, roughly a third of our fuel survived the perilous three steps between our tank and theirs. They didn’t stop with just one bottle; over a liter and a half later they decided to call it quits.

Shockingly, our buggy sputtered and stopped not ninety seconds up the path, and the non-English speaking tour guide frustratingly tried to start our engine to no avail. Perhaps the concept of an empty fuel tank escaped his mind, but his frustration transferred over to my friend who took the helm of a spare buggy that was luckily a few paces from where our original buggy gave up the ghost. This spare buggy had chunks of the tire flapping in the breeze with belts clearly visible, and the steering wheel took more turns lock-to-lock that I can count on my fingers.

Unintelligible instructions and rickety controls drove my friend insane, so he finally gave in and let me make up time on the final leg of the journey. A full throttle sprint in this death trap had me laughing like a madman, wafting and bouncing dangerously close to a full blown crash. Sweating and smiling upon our return to the starting point, my distraught passenger did not share my laughter at the blatant disregard for routine vehicular maintenance. Several days later waiting to board the flight home, my body was still screaming for mercy while my heart remained set on hauling ass in an open wheeled monstrosity at any chance I could get.

Thursday, September 7, 2017

Do Robot Drivers Dream of Electric E-Types?

  • Jaguar Land Rover Classic electrifies the past with an inventive Jaguar E-type sports car featuring fully electric powertrain
  • Acclaimed by Enzo Ferrari as “the most beautiful car in the world”, the Jaguar E-type now combines breathtaking beauty with zero emissions for the first time
  • E-type Zero is based on 1968 Series 1.5 Jaguar E-type Roadster, and features a cutting-edge electric powertrain enabling 0-62mph in just 5.5 seconds
  • Engineered by Jaguar Land Rover Classic at company’s new ‘Classic Works’ in Warwickshire, UK
  • E-type Zero makes world debut during Jaguar Land Rover Tech Fest at Central Saint Martins, University of the Arts London. The event begins with a media preview on 7 September and is open to public visitors from 8-10 September 
  • E-Type Zero will sit alongside the all-electric Jaguar I-PACE, which goes on sale in 2018

Ryton-on-Dunsmore, 7 September 2017 – Jaguar Land Rover Classic is presenting an electric-powered Jaguar E-type at the Jaguar Land Rover Tech Fest, which opens to the public on 8 September in London. The car, known as E-type Zero, has been restored and converted at Jaguar Land Rover Classic Works in Coventry, not far from where the E-type was born. 

“E-type Zero combines the renowned E-type dynamic experience with enhanced performance through electrification. This unique combination creates a breathtaking driving sensation." -Tim Hannig, Director, Jaguar Land Rover Classic

“Our aim with E-type Zero is to future-proof classic car ownership. We’re looking forward to the reaction of our clients as we investigate bringing this concept to market.”

The Jaguar E-type Zero not only drives and looks like an E-type, it also offers outstanding performance. It’s quicker than an original E-type: 0-100km/h (62mph) takes only 5.5sec, about one second quicker than a Series 1 E-type. 

“In order to seamlessly combine the new electric powertrain of E-type Zero with the dynamic set-up of the original E-type specification, we have limited the vehicle’s power output. We believe this provides the optimum driving experience.”

The E-type Zero vehicle, displayed at Tech Fest, is a restored Series 1.5 Roadster. It’s totally original in specification, apart from its 21st century state-of-the-art powertrain and modified instrumentation and facia – although these are also inspired by the original E-type. LED headlights are also used to achieve energy efficiency. Again, they adopt the styling theme of the original Series 1 E-type.

Bespoke electric powertrain
An electric powertrain developing 220kW has been specially designed for the E-type Zero. Its lithium-ion battery pack has the same dimensions, and similar weight, to the XK six-cylinder engine used in the original E-type. The experts responsible for developing the electric powertrain have ensured it will be placed in precisely the same location as the XK engine. The electric motor (and reduction gear) lies just behind the battery pack, in the same location as the E-type’s gearbox. A new propshaft sends power to a carry-over differential and final drive. Total weight is 46kg lower than the original E-type.

Using an electric powertrain with similar weight and dimensions to the outgoing petrol engine and transmission means the car’s structure, including suspension and brakes, has not changed, simplifying the conversion and homologation. It drives, handles, rides and brakes like an original E-type. Front-rear weight distribution is unchanged.

“We have integrated the new electric powertrain into the existing E-type structure, which means a conventional engine could be reinstalled at any point. We think this is essential as it ensures a period Jaguar remains authentic to its DNA.” 

The XK six-cylinder engine was made from 1949 until 1992, and was fitted to nearly all iconic Jaguar models of that period, including the E-type, XK120, Mk2 and XJ6. The new electric powertrain could be used in any of these vehicles. 

“We could use this technology to transform any classic XK-engine Jaguar.” 

‘The most beautiful car ever made’
The E-type, launched in 1961, has regularly been voted the best-looking car of all time. Even Enzo Ferrari called it "the most beautiful car ever made”.

E-type Zero’s unique electric powertrain was developed by an electric powertrain specialist in conjunction with Jaguar Land Rover engineers and to a specific brief from Jaguar Land Rover Classic. It uses some technology and components borrowed from the upcoming I-PACE, Jaguar Land Rover’s first production all-electric vehicle.

The E-type Zero has a ‘real world’ range of 270km (about 170 miles), helped by the low weight and good aerodynamics. It uses a 40kWh battery, which can be recharged from home overnight (typically in six to seven hours, depending on power source).

The Jaguar Land Rover Tech Fest, where the electric Jaguar E-type is unveiled, is being held at Central Saint Martins, University of the Arts London. The media day is 7 September and it is open to the public from 8-10 September.

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