Lexus LM review: Inside this large and unfortunately shaped luxury van

Recline and relax in the Lexus LM – a van that bears a grille so large it makes Nathan Cleary’s chin look small.

The Lexus LM is best when driven gently, says Stephen Corby.

Stephen Corby

4 min read

11:29AMJanuary 18, 2024.

Updated 2:42PMJanuary 18, 2024

The Weekend Australian Magazine

There are umpteen eleventy million things that can send me spiralling into a rage of spit-speckled swearing, but very few of my many triggers are as potent as a traffic jam.

I don’t even like the word “impotent” (and yes, I should have thought of that before I got a vasectomy so I could write about the experience), but that’s exactly the kind of furious fuming anger that grips me when I’m stuck in a snake of trapped, turgid traffic.

Happily, I have found a solution, in the large and unfortunate shape of the Lexus LM, a luxury van (yes, that is a strange combination of words, right up there with “delectable turnip” or “enjoyable surgery”) that bears a grille so large it makes Nathan Cleary’s chin look small (I’ll pause for moment while those outside Queensland and NSW Google a photo of him, and then “Ooh” at the revelation that he’s dating Mary Fowler of the Matildas).

The secret to beating slow-road rage is to let someone else drive the LM while you recline almost flat in one of the two cushy business-class style chairs in the second row, the blinds pulled down and the massage seats lulling you to almost sleep as their little air pockets make tiny, polite farting sounds in your ear.

Lexus LM steering can feel “quite muscular and chunky”.

Yes, I did briefly feel guilty as I opened an eye to spy my driver chewing quietly on the steering wheel in fury as the vehicles around us slowed to the point where it felt like we were defying the arrow of time. Going back to sleep soon fixed that.

The only thing standing between you and the ability to transcend traffic problems, then, is the $160,888 you’d need to buy a Lexus LM (and that’s for the entry-level Sports Luxury, with six seats; the LM500h Ultra Luxury, which seats four, is $220,888) and whatever a driver costs, but the really good news it that you don’t need to actually buy an LM. Indeed, I’d advise you not to. What you should do instead is buy another Lexus, one of its EVs (an RZ 450e or UX 300e) perhaps, or a rather more attractive LC, LS or LX, any of which will give you access to the brand’s Encore Platinum benefits scheme, which is, I’m pretty sure, merely the precursor of what will eventually become the brand’s mobility subscription offering (rather than buying one car, you pay a monthly fee and can swap between a fleet of different vehicles to suit your requirements).

Put your seat back in the Lexus LM 500H.

You would need to play a very high-stakes game of paper, rock, scissors to decide who is going to drive and who is going to de-stress in the rear.

Encore Platinum members can borrow an LM for up to eight days for free, either from a dealer in their home city or at a major Australian airport they’re flying into, and can do so four times during the three years in which their membership is complimentary (you don’t have to go for the big LM van, of course, you can choose from a range of Lexuses). This offer makes a lot of sense if you buy an electric car from the Japanese luxury brand, because you can then use the EV for all of your city driving and short trips, and switch to a petrol-engined Lexus for longer journeys.

I can certainly see how the LM might come in handy for a bunch of blokes going away on a golf weekend, or two couples heading to a posh-plush hotel like Jackalope in the Mornington Peninsula, where I was driven (Encore Platinum also offers discounts at various venues such as this). But you would need to play a very high-stakes game of paper, rock, scissors to decide who is going to drive and who is going to de-stress in the rear, with its luxe seats and television screen with Mark Levinson surround-sound.

Behind the wheel of the Lexus LM350.

Inside the Lexus LM 350H.

As tempted as I was to finally achieve my goal of writing a review of a car without driving it at all, professional curiosity nipped at me so I snuck down to the lobby, took the keys and headed off into the countryside in the chauffeur’s seat. The LM350h variant I tried asks a hybridised 2.5-litre four-cylinder engine to shift just over 2.3 tonnes of van (it’s also 5.1m long and almost 2m high), which would seem like a challenge except that it’s not designed to be sporty, just luxely sedate.

Once I’d gotten over the mental horror of seeing myself as a bus driver, I found the LM far less intimidating, in terms of its sheer size, than I had feared. The steering felt quite muscular and chunky, which I enjoyed, and that somehow also helped to make it feel like I was in charge of something much smaller than a limo-van.

Driven gently, as my theoretical rear-seat passengers would appreciate, the whole experience was surprisingly effortless – but make the mistake of calling for too much power at once and the annoying CVT gearbox has a flappy panic and whines loudly.

Outside of wanting to become a particularly high-end Uber driver – a job with far too much traffic for my mental health – I can’t see why you would want to buy a Lexus LM, but I can definitely see the advantages of being able to borrow one. This whole idea of driving lots of different cars instead of just one might just catch on. Works for me.