Being pretty is its only crime

A magazine cover featuring a pregnant Kerry McGregor recently reminded me of an obscure lyric from a track that Sting put out 10 years ago, and suddenly I realised why the Maserati GranTurismo S is a virtually unimpeachable work of art...

Readers of CAR's January 2010 Performance Issue, in which we take some of South Africa's best-rated sports cars, a Bentley and mamba-green Lumina Ute SS on a cross-country trip and pit them against one another in a track shootout, will by now know that I chose the Maserati GranTurismo S as my weapon of choice. The reasons for my selection are stipulated early on in the mag feature, but suffice to say the black Maser obligates me to think of Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day.

Most warm-blooded bipeds with XY chrome pairings appreciate Mrs McGregor-McKenzie, who is seen holding up her first born Luke and sporting an expectant bump on a the cover of SA Pregnancy magazine, in a similar way. Young Luke is a handsome little tyke, which is not surprising given that he is the offspring of the beautiful and delectable Kerry and her husband, hunky former SA cricketer Neil, whose sister is a model too... The photogenic couple is now expecting a daughter, and she's likely to start life with a distinct advantage too, and it will have nothing to do with the earning potential of her parents or the talents/abilities she may develop.

I have been told that some good-looking people lead lonely lives, because they fear that people tend to take an interest in them purely for aesthetic reasons and seek an attachment of sorts for the sake of conquest. Well, even if that's true, I don't believe beauty is such a terrible burden. Pretty people get preferential treatment for virtually their entire lives... As soon as they enter society, they get singled out for special attention and automatic promotion in a number of social spheres or groups and seem exempt from some of the dilemmas that ordinary folks endure, such as finding a date for the matric farewell, paying people to take photographs of you, attracting salespeople's attention and coming up with well-considered excuses. In short, they "get away with murder"... I am sure that notoriously naughty Labrador puppies would grow into obedient juveniles if they weren't too darn cute to swat.

But don't mistake this blog for a rant against good-looking people, because (with respect to Alison Moyet) I go weak in the presence of beauty, especially when trying to be critical of a particularly pretty car. The Maserati GranTurismo S is so achingly beautiful, that this jaded motoring hack will forever turn a blind eye to the Italian's shortcomings. When behind the wheel of a GT, one feels pretty by association, and even if a person believes that he resembles Quasimodo in his passport picture (as I do), nothing beats marveling at the reflection of the Maserati in a shop window - especially if you're the one behind the wheel. The Automatica model may just be a rather conventional slushboxed version of the sonorous 4,7-litre V8-engined original Cambiocorsa S model, but let your eyes gaze over the contoured black bonnet and take in the curves of those voluptuous flanks (in the side mirrors), and it doesn't really matter what the car's like to drive anymore.

And seeing that the driving experience is of little consequence to an otherwise mesmerised driver, complete enthrallment is but a prod of the accelerator away. The 6,2-litre V8 in Mercedes-Benz's AMG arsenal bellows like a blow of Thor's hammer to the heavens, the 5,0 litre in the Jaguar XF, burbles, roars and puffs like a primeval blood beast, and the 4,0-litre M Power unit under the bonnet of the exquisite BMW M3 wails and gnarls all the way to its 8 500 r/min redline... But by contrast, the song of the Maserati GranTuriso S is so darn soulful - and eminently melodic - that it could arguably move angels to tears... Yes, if an S in full voice doesn't give you goose pimples, please have your wrist checked for sign of a pulse.

As it happens, the GranTurismo S is more than capable in the handling department, the ride quality is on the firm side for a grand tourer (again, it doesn't matter) and the interior's overall fit and finish could be a tad more upmarket (how could the inside of the car ever live up to its gorgeous exterior design?). Some say the steering wheel's too big and the brakes could be sharper... Oh well...

No, I am afraid that the Maserati is a thing of magnificent beauty... And to twist the words of Sting, who wrote a song about a prossie (Tomorrow We'll See) for his Brand New Day album, being pretty is (the Maserati's) only crime.