‘It’s not idiotic enough’: Jeremy Clarkson’s verdict on Citroen’s DS 9
I’ve always had a soft spot for the French car mainly because they are always so idiotic. But if you’re thinking of buying Citroen’s DS 9, don’t. It’s nowhere near idiotic enough.
On our annual family holiday to the south of France last year, I spotted a very good-looking car in Juan-les-Pins. It was a big Citroën of some sort, and I made a mental note to test-drive one as soon as possible.
I’ve always had a soft spot for the larger French car, mainly because they are always so idiotic. The Citroën CX with its vertically mounted stereo and on-or-off brakes. The Renault Avantime, a two-door people carrier, and the Vel Satis, which was a completely pointless leather-lined van. One of my favourite ever sports saloons was the Peugeot 505 GTi. You had a sense when driving it that if there was a Le Sweeney on French television, it’d be the car used by Jacques Regan. “Enfile ton pantalon, tu es arrêté.”
The problem for French carmakers is this: I’m the only person outside France who thinks like this. Everyone else who wants a large car buys an Audi or a BMW or a Mercedes. Only 200 DSs a month were sold in the UK last year, and have you ever seen one in Rome, Cologne or Dublin? No.
Only the French buy large French cars and doesn’t that strike you as odd and a bit jingoistically old-fashioned? Because when they sit down to think what qualities they want from a new car, they have to think, “I don’t care how shit it is just so long as it’s French.”
Over here we laugh at that notion. Or do we? I have a Chinese telephone, a Japanese television, a Swedish cooker, two Canadian dogs and an Irish girlfriend. But it’s a different story with my cars. I’ve a few relics from Top Gear and The Grand Tour knocking about, but the cars I actually own, and use, are a Bentley Flying Spur, a Range Rover, an F-Type Jag and a classic Mini. All British.
It’s strange. I was, and still am, a fervent Remainer and I’m happy to live in a globalised society. But when it comes to cars (and farming), there’s something buried deep in my soul that draws me to the homegrown option.
I know, of course, that my Bentley is German and the Jag and Land Rover are Indian and the behemoth that made the old Mini is now nothing more than a footnote in the history books. And I know they all have Italian brakes and German suspension components and Taiwanese brains. And I know the workforce that put all these components together will have come from all over the place. But there must be something in all these cars to which I’m drawn. God knows what. But it’s there. And cards on the table: driving a car that I know was made just down the road – same as eating a local pork chop – makes me happy.
All of which brings me back to the big Citroëny thing that I saw on my holidays last year.
It’s made by Citroën, and it is a Citroën, but it’s not actually called a Citroën. To try to give it an upmarket flavour it’s called a DS 9. That excited me. Because it conjured up all those images of Charles de Gaulle and the OAS and men in berets with Sten guns. The original DS was a car that could be driven flat-out on three wheels. You could drive one across a ploughed field at 160km/h and not spill your wine. It was unusual and mad and was much admired the world over by designer types. And me because it was idiotic.
So I was rather looking forward to my time in the modern-day equivalent. Naturally it’s a plug-in hybrid, which according to Citroën means it has an electric-only range of “42 miles (on the WLTP cycle) allowing for BIK rates from just 8%”. Not being interested in hybrid drive systems, I literally have no idea what any of this means.
What I do know is the car I tried was two-wheel drive in normal driving, then four-wheel drive when electric assistance was applied. This seems like an awful lot of bother just to save a polar bear. But there we are.
Of far more interest was the list of options you can fit. There were none. I don’t think I’ve ever even heard of that before. But there it was: a car that comes as standard with absolutely everything you can think of. Night vision, self-parking, ventilated seats, a 515-watt stereo, a sunroof, a motorised tailgate. Everything. It even had a camera system that reads the road ahead and then tunes the suspension to cope with what’s coming up.
This filled me with glee. The first big Citroën (not that it is a Citroën of course) since the old XM that would ride properly. And … it doesn’t work. Or, to be fair, it does work but not well enough. The result is a car that doesn’t feel markedly different to every other car out there. And to make matters worse, instead of having squidgematic seats, which all big French cars should have, it has the sort of things you’d find in a Beemer. I was expecting this DS to be the last word in comfort. And it’s just normal.
The dashboard is normal too. Sure, the clock is a joy to behold, and in about five years it’ll be worth more than the car, but the rest of it is straight from the pages of a book called How to Make a Car in 2024. The only quirk I could find is that there are so many toys, they’ve had to hide several of the controls on the back of the steering wheel. Where is the rotating barrel speedo and the non-self-cancelling indicators? Gone, I’m afraid, because Citroën today is part of one great big company that also owns Peugeot, Fiat, Chrysler, Maserati, Dodge, Alfa Romeo, Lancia, Jeep, Opel and Vauxhall. There’s no room for nationalistic niceties in a group like that. Or rotating speedos.
Frankly I’m surprised there’s even room for the DS 9. Because while they may sell a hundred in France every month to Mr and Mrs Macron, it’s not idiotic enough to stand out. It may be very good-looking but, in reality, it’s just a car with a nice clock.
In case you were thinking that maybe you wanted a very good-looking car with a nice clock, let me explain why you’re almost certainly not going to buy one. First, you’re not French, and second, prices start at £56,000 ($108,500). The car I tested with more electrical oomph and all those toys is more than £73,000 ($142,000).
For that kind of money you’re better off with a BMW. I know that. We all do. This part of the market is where BMWs shine. It’s their home turf. So I’d buy a Jag.
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DS 9 E-Tense 4x4 360 Opera
Engine: 1.6-litre four-cylinder turbo petrol plus electric motor
Performance:0-100km/h 5.6 seconds, top speed 249km/h
Rating: 3 out of 5 stars