As you already know, this is a series of drawings. And we generally doubt a little bit that we don’t quite believe when it comes to the rate of conversion from on-page creatives to driving and driving.
But this isn’t the last flash in the pan, as it promises an electric drivetrain that will rearrange your members’ order the first time you hit the right pedal and a list of exclusive clients Yada Yada has never heard of. Modern. This, dear friends, something else entirely: Giocattolo’s second chapter. Members may still be reorganized onto the cards.
It’s a story that started in the 1980’s in Queensland, Australia. It is a story of hopes, ambitions and promises shattered by bureaucracy and fate. It’s a story we’ve written before, in fact. How useful are we?
It’s also a story that continues here. But not in this retro fashion that wins easy victories for Suzuki Jimny and Ford Bronco – we dare say that – the artist formerly known as the 911, which Singer has redesigned. Instead, it maintains the complete insanity of the original, then ramps up enough to be noticed in what might just be the craziest year of an entire generation.
Kick Off Madness is the best Australian-American mix since … oh. Crocodile Dandy? Yeah, but this one is really good, so listen up – this W16 is actually two 7.0 liter LS engines that work in harmony. You will notice that we did not share the crankshaft, however – there is a transfer case that takes power from one shaft and one flywheel, which then turns into a gearbox. Insanity multiplies. Manufacture of a transmission from solid bars is the kind of thing that engineers at major auto companies suggest when trying to hit bean counters. Yet here it is.
The result is 14 liters, 1,400 bhp of aerial madness, 16 cylinders and sounds that we pay a lot to hear. As you already know, the engine and transmission are not a real graphic, but rather a complete power unit, ready to propel you closer to the horizon. It’s all well and good, but powerful engines and nice designs aren’t perfect cars. At least that’s what this baffling gendarmerie told us. So what’s the plan?
Well, Barry Locke – the same former McLaren engineer behind the original Giocattolo – is back on the board and has already pulled pages from the F1 playbook (and Ferrari F50), like using the engine as a tense member. Speaking of the F1, the Marcella design required a three-seat setup that Gordon Murray agreed. Could this be a battleground for futuristic supercars?
Much will depend on Marcella – and even the new Giocattolo brand – to grow from an extremely ambitious idea and technical richness to a completed vehicle and a self-sufficient business. And it’s up to the same guy who knows a little about big ideas and how they can get down to earth in a way that makes people think Icarus wasn’t that bad after all: Paul Halstead.
After closing Giocattolo’s original iteration informally (and sharply, thanks to a series of skeletal-headed plays before – and the ensuing lawsuits with – the Australian government), Halstead found himself with nothing. Bankrupt, with property full of possessions in his name, he promised his wife that he would not only get everything back, but that his next car would be named after him: Marcella.
Halstead has kept his word so far: build and sell three companies, then start a fourth that has become Australia’s most successful IT recruiter. Now, to make the final part a reality, the 74-year-old takes his newly discovered financial success and invests it in a superhero swan song. He even sells his personal toys: a 900-hp Monaro, a DeTomaso Pantera race car, and even his very own Giocattolo.
And that probably illustrates everything you need to know about Paul Halstead’s mindset when it comes to designing his perfect supercar: unending ambition. When this thing disappears from the page, you better believe that we will fight to be the first.
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