My upbringing in a family of carholics coincided with the fabulous era of 1990s Japan. It was an era where NSXs battled Ferraris, GT-Rs broke Nurburgring records and the first of the 10-second Supras emerged.
Toyota ruled my roost, not the MR2 initially, but the A80 Supra. It was the first ‘fast’ vehicle I was introduced to: my brother owned a twin turbo mimic of the one in Fast and Furious. He even used it as the courier car for his delivery runs.
My early enthusiasm for pestering my siblings to teach me about cars, combined with my ability to consume useless facts, meant there was only one solution for it—nurture this passion by buying me a copy of the then recently released Gran Turismo. The first time I loaded it up, one particular segment of the intro caught my attention: a bright yellow, second-generation Toyota MR2 on full opposite lock.
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I was hooked from the moment I figured out what the car was. Targa top, pop-up headlights, tiny frame holding it all together—look at how cleanly the rear wing hooks up to the engine bay. It still gets me as feverish now as it did back then.
Toyota managed to shift 140,000 units of these—big number, considering the second-gen never enjoyed the same reputation for great driving dynamics as the boxier original. Early versions had reputations for savage lift off oversteer, and in 1992, after two years on sale, Toyota revised the front and rear suspension and fitted wider tires.
Not every flaw was cured, though. The power of this non-Turbo GT is just about sufficient, but you’ll only really enjoy it once you get past 2,500rpm. The main reason isn’t its power delivery, which is strong and linear, but the noise: It sounds like a van before fizzing into a more interesting rasp.
The other big issue is the lack of power steering. It’s incredibly heavy at low speeds and on the first half rotation of the wheel. You do feel the load lifting and providing some actual response once you’re up to speed though, and when it does eventually all come together, the MR2 is a fun car to throw around.
There’s a small boundary layer in which you can get it to misbehave—I even had a moment after a very ambitious roundabout approach—but for the most part, there are bountiful amounts of grip. It’s not a point-and-squirt machine by any stretch, but there’s enough sprightliness in its handling to warrant a smirk.
The MR2’s best trait, though, is its ability as a cruiser. When you settle into a long mile-munching session, you realise just how soft and cushioned the lumbar-supported seats are. You’re positioned squat and low to the ground with your feet way out in the next town, but the ride is brilliant thanks to the tiny 14in alloys and thick tire walls, plus an absorbent suspension setup.
The MR2 was one of those heroes that turned out to be nothing like I’d imagined it would...
I completely misunderstood the purpose of this car. When I got flashbacks to the 90° opposite lock freeze frame on the crummy old TV in my bedroom, I assumed this would be a hunkered down, rowdy sports car. I was wrong: it’s a gentle GT. My whole life I thought I knew what the MR2 was, but I didn’t. It’s not a car for wolfing down mountain passes, it’s best served as a sunroof open, vintage funk and soul-blaring sort of dish to peacefully navigate a long B-road with.
Perhaps this easily misjudged character is why so many people are willing to discard mint examples in favour of chasing fraudulence. But I’m absolutely fine with it. The MR2 was one of those heroes that turned out to be nothing like I’d imagined it would... but in the most pleasant way possible.
NOTE: This story first appeared on TopGear.com. Minor edits have been made.
