The Lotus Emeya R is an all-electric, four-door saloon with a six-figure list price and a 0-to-60mph time of 2.78 seconds. It’s got adaptive air suspension, autonomous driving capability and an interior festooned with technology, including Shiatsu-like seat massagers. A massive battery pack promises this 2,585kg car will go 270 miles on a single charge.
All of which begs one itty-bitty question: is this really a Lotus?
The badge is right there on the bonnet, so the short answer is: duh. But indulge me. Lotus was co-founded in 1948 by Colin Chapman, a rakish, moustachioed Englishman with a bone-dry wit and a sixth sense for speed. (Many of Chapman’s technical innovations are still at play in Formula One and other motorsports.) He’s probably best remembered for his design philosophy: “Simplify, then add lightness.”
Strictly adhering to this regime, Lotus built some of the weirdest and most wonderful road-going cars ever, including the 1960s Elan, arguably the first modern sports car, and the ’90s Elise, without which Tesla might never have existed. (That’s a whole different story.) Over the years, Lotus became synonymous with lightweight sports cars that – like the toffs who adored them – were fun, fancy and a bit faulty.
I’m not the first to wonder what a Lotus is supposed to be nowadays. That question has been on enthusiasts’ minds since 2017, when the company was acquired by Chinese giant Geely. Soon after, executives outlined plans to expand Lotus by making electric “lifestyle” vehicles. Yes, electric vehicles are fast and, compared with internal combustion, simple. But light? Not so much. As far as car design goes, electrification is Ozempic in reverse. Hence the angst.
The Emeya, which I tested during a press drive in Germany and Austria, is the second of the new lifestyle Loti. The first, an SUV called the Eletre, launched last year. (It took exactly half a glass of Dornfelder to irreversibly confuse the two names.) Emeya deliveries in Europe begin this month. An entry-level model starts at £89,500 and the roided-out, 905hp R version I got to flog costs from £129,950, before options.
Lotus calls the Emeya a “Hyper-GT”, first word meaning really fast, second standing for Grand Tourer. Originally a reference to the journeys of intellectual and artistic discovery undertaken by young, 18th-century British aristos, GT became the industry term for big, comfy cars suitable for making long-haul trips, during which rest-stop chicken wraps and thin coffee may substitute for aesthetic revelation.
A hyper-grand tour sounds like something you regret convincing your partner will be a great bonding experience with the kids over half-term. But it might actually be a goer in an Emeya. This thing is big. And very comfortable, easily fitting five burly lads in the standard 2+3 seating configuration.
My vehicle’s interior was also kitted out with nearly every gizmo available. Honestly, it was all a little too much information for me. Mercifully, Lotus says every one of the Emeya’s essential functions can be triggered via physical buttons. Blessed be the olds.
But the Emeya’s GT-ness is one more turn of this riddle wrapped in a mystery inside a tongue-twister. In an era clamouring for cute utes and reformed SUVs, who is asking for this kind of vehicle? More to the point, who is asking for this kind of electric vehicle? True, Lotus’s blazing-fast charging system – the speediest and easiest I’ve used – topped me up from around 30 per cent charge to more than 90 per cent in less time than it took me to wolf down a butterbrezel and a spezi. But it all depends on where you’re grand touring and what kind of chargers you have access to.
The better news is that it’s a hoot to drive. From the Munich airport, I munched up the miles en route to twistier Austrian roads. When pushed, the Emeya deploys an integrated rear spoiler and opens a constellation of triangular vents in the front grille to improve aerodynamics and cooling.
Although punching the accelerator generated noticeable torque steer, I didn’t feel like I came anywhere close to the edge of control. (Colleagues who pushed it to the electronically limited top speed of 159mph reported the same.) By the time I was in the mountains, the hills weren’t alive with the sound of music, since the Emeya is whisper-silent. But I may have let out a few perfectly masculine squeals.
Several hours later, we arrived at a bucolic eco-lodge and, still wondering whether I was driving a real Lotus or not, I congratulated myself on being the Young Werther of not letting it go. To be fair, Lotus had repeatedly informed us the new vehicles were totally legit, including unearthing archival materials showing that Chapman thought making a GT was a really neat idea back in the ’80s.
Why all this hand-wringing? These are ticklish days for electric car-makers. Technology has lowered the barrier to entry for start-ups while raising the stakes for old-line manufacturers. Consumer demand is all over the place. And, oh good, there’s another tariff war brewing. In other words, we’re fully stuck into the awkward adolescence of electrification.
At dinner, an immensely patient gentleman on the Lotus team told me he thought the company was becoming something akin to the line that used to be printed on the back of every iPhone. In Lotus’s case: designed in Britain, engineered in Germany (where its tech hub is located) and assembled in China. Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue, but the man had a point.
In 2017, Lotus management correctly discerned that, to survive another 76 years, it has to appeal to customers beyond divorced and divorce-curious dads. That means more cars like the Eletre and Emeya. All the better if they offer this much value. (Even a top-of-the-line Emeya is likely to cost less and offer more luxury than a roughly comparable electric BMW or Porsche.)
What will make them authentic Lotus vehicles is the small army of people in Norfolk trying their damnedest to build a bridge between the company’s past and its future.
Lotus Emeya R
Acceleration: 0-60mph in 2.78 seconds
Top speed: 159mph
Range: 270 miles
Price: from £129,950
Rating: 4/5