It makes sense, of course: if a car company is going to survive and thrive, it must produce and sell more than one single model.
Perhaps a convertible. Perhaps a wagonish version. A crossover? Naturally, old bean — I hear those things sell like fish n' chips in Blackpool. Thus, the Mini Countryman, a Mini which is a less-mini Mini than the ordinary Mini. For Mini- lovers who find their lives unable to fit in a Mini, this Mini is more Mini without being too mini; a maxi-Mini made for non-minimalist Mini fans.
You may wish to read the preceding paragraph more than once.
If you park this thing next to an original Austin Mini, it looks like an absolute Heffalump: an over-stuffed Pooh Bear having a chinwag with Piglet. What, I ask you, is the point of having a larger Mini? Surely that defeats the entire essence of the breed? Well actually. . . .
Design
The rear badge on the back of the Countryman is apparently modelled on the wingspan of a Lancaster bomber. It is HUGE, and proudly claims "MINI" in an all-caps refutation of those who might point out that this car is too big to be called a Mini.
"I'm a Mini!" "No, you're not." "Yes I am, it says so on me badge. Swear on me mum!" Beyond that, the Countryman does resemble a BMW-made regular Cooper in most respects. The front treatment is less cutesy, with a grille that looks a bit like a moustache, and less-round headlights. The roof has the same curves, the fenders have the same diagonal side-marker featurette, and the body's the same curvy shape: just one inflated by a team of engineers wielding bicycle pumps.
One nice thing about the Mini range is the level of customization available, and I was able to put together a nice Jungle Green version using the online configurator. The catch — and there's always a catch — was the cost of doing so. Metallic paint and a pair of hood stripes added more than $1,000 to the cost of the Countryman in a blink.
Another small annoyance emerges when you unlock the car. The Countryman is fitted with remote access, but the tiny rubber push-buttons on the door handles are fussy to operate and slow to react. You end up standing in the rain like an eejit, pressing them again and again while getting soaked.
Environment
Mini's engineers (or rather, BMW's engineers) have done a decent job of creating an open and airy cabin in the Countryman's interior. That's the good news.
Less good is what they've built that cabin out of: hard plastics that scratch easily and are slightly prone to rattling. The Countryman is not an inexpensive vehicle, but even with the addition of extra leather seating surfaces and other goodies, it doesn't exactly feel premium. The retro-kitsch appeal is standing in the way of common sense here. There's a centre rail that's meant to operate as a mounting point for various accessories, but this feature is not particularly easy to use or sensible. Things tend to rattle around when mounted in it, and really a proper bin would be better.
However, it's not as goofy as the previous-generation Cooper was, and the ability to add interior colour inserts adds a sense of fun. The oval-shaped pedals, the giant centre-mounted speedometer — pretty much everything about the Countryman's interior requires the driver to have a bit of a sense of humour.
The seats are comfortable, but everything else is a tad silly. Whether or not you'll chuckle or turn up your nose is going to depend on your taste.
Performance
Exterior looks or interior foibles aside, the Countryman could easily claim proper Mini status if it has a fun-to-drive attitude. Wonder-of-wonders: this is one of the very few crossovers you can get with all-wheel drive and a genuine manual transmission.
However, my tester had the automatic instead. Drat.
First the good — the Countryman feels obviously bigger behind the wheel than the standard Cooper, but the upright seating position and generally good visibility are nice to have in city traffic. The steering is also excellent, and might even be better than anything else BMW is putting out.
The trouble is — keep the Countryman in normal mode and the overall drive is firm in terms of suspension, but somewhat disconnected in terms of transmission and powertrain. If you want a proper Mini driving experience, you have to flick things into Sport mode, and the car wakes up instantly. Regrettably, it's hard to do this on the move as the sport button is off down on the centre console amidst a row of other switches. I wish Mini would steal a page here from their BMW owners and stick a button on the steering wheel so you could flick it into go mode whenever you spot a twisty bit of road.
The 1.6-litre turbocharged four-cylinder is a willing little motor, and makes 181 horsepower at 5,500 r.p.m. Torque is quick to come on, and rated at 177 foot-pounds, or 192 foot-pounds with the temporary overboost function. I'd expect this engine to disappear with the Countryman's redesign, in favour of the 2.0-litre turbocharged engine currently found in the Cooper.
If you've got things set just right, the Countryman is actually a bit of a hoot. It's only really large compared to a normal Mini, so on the road it feels more planted than other crossovers, and scoots along just fine. The ALL4 all-wheel drive is quite good at shunting the power around, and if you switch off the traction control it puts the power down with nary a misstep.
It's a bit charming actually, though I would much prefer the available stick-shift to liven things up a bit. As it is, the Countryman provides a driving experience that Mini owners looking to step up will find acceptable.
Features
All sorts of goodies are available for the Countryman — assuming you're willing to pay for them. Satellite navigation, for instance, is bundled with voice recognition and smartphone connectivity for $1,450. On the plus side, the bundling steps seem to make sense; less happily, the cost of the Countryman can shoot up quickly — my tester was approaching $40,000.
As the tech is mostly shared with BMW, much of it will be familiar to fans of the blue-and-white roundel. However, I did have some issues getting my iPhone to connect through the USB, and the controls and overall ergonomics are fussy.
Official fuel economy figures come in at 10.1 litres/100 kilometres in the city and 7.8 l/100 km on the highway. Premium fuel is required, and my overall real-world result was close to 11 l/100 km; not just expensive to buy, but a little costly to operate as well.
Green light
Useful size; available manual transmission; looks will appeal to Mini fans; engaging drive.
Stop sign
Cost after options; interior ergonomics and feel; reliability concerns.
The checkered flag
Makes sense on paper, but from the driver's seat you'd really have to love Minis to buy one.
Competition
Nissan Juke Nismo RS ($31,998): Tuned up to 211 h.p., and with features like Recaro seats, an Alcantara steering wheel, and an excellent torque-vectoring all-wheel-drive system, the highest-spec Juke is a turbocharged loon. It's also compact, (very) funky-looking, and a hoot to drive. Regrettably, if you want a stick shift, that's only available on the front-wheel-drive version. And the rear seats are kind of useless. Still, as a small crossover that's big fun, the Juke is hard to beat.
