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It’s best to remember that you are only passing through, that you are a guest here: a 10-car conga line of lollipop-colored, wings-and-spoilers, hiss-crackle-and-pop dream machines, showing up unannounced at the gas stations and convenience stores of deeply rural Kentucky and Tennessee. You come to expect the instant appearance of smartphones in careworn cases, snapping for social media, even when upload speeds can seem slower than the sun’s unhurried march across the summer sky. These are places where a late-model pickup truck might be a statement of success, and you’re driving a six-figure supercar. There will be questions. So you happily answer them. You put the Little Leaguers behind the wheel of the Lambo and the McLaren and the Alfa one at a time. You listen to stories about Terminator Cobras. You engage in nostalgic tales of Hemi Darts and dimly remembered drag races flagged from the town square in the moonlight of a distant past. Most of all, you stay polite and friendly. You’re a guest here. Just passing through. How could it be otherwise, in states where the very roads and buildings feel itinerant, where the natural rise and fall of the land remains almost entirely unconquered by the developer’s bulldozer or the engineer’s dynamite? Five minutes after you leave that gas station, you’re swallowed into deep forests, blind corners, roller-coaster descents terminating in wicked, decreasing-radius bends. They say that New York reaches 200 feet into the bedrock of Manhattan, but in Kentucky and Tennessee, the veneer of civilization is no deeper than the lightly laid asphalt connecting hill to holler and back again. Road & Track staffers come here year after year, from as far as London and Seattle, in order to forget. Forget the glitzy new-car introductions and the deep pile of the showroom carpet, forget the hype and the profit and loss. Here we read the Braille intent of nature through fingertips on the wheel. Here is where excellence shines and unpleasant artifice is exposed to ridicule, first gentle then earnest in long discussions over park benches and local barbecue tables. Our mission is simple: choose the car that impresses, surprises, excites, delights. Then come back from the hills and tell the story. And that’s what you will find in the pages to follow: From 10 cars, we chose first four, then one, and that one is our Performance Car of the Year for 2018. Come along and be our guest. THE CONTENDERS Welcome to the fifth year of PCOTY. As in the past, competitors must be new or significantly revised for 2017, and they must be series-production cars that push the limits of performance and pleasure on both road and track. That means no crossovers and no track-only specials. In all cases, we request the purest possible expression of enthusiasm in any given platform, which is why we have the Civic Type R instead of the outstanding Civic Si. It’s also why the Camaro on hand wears dive planes to complete its two high-performance badges—ZL1 and 1LE. Although we invite every car that fits our criteria, some manufacturers are unable to meet our scheduling requirements, while others dislike the prospect of exposing their products to our unsupervised and unblinking evaluation. This year, we had 10 contenders answer the bell. The field was incredibly diverse, so we decided to start by giving each car a chance to compete directly with its closest neighbors, both in terms of intent and execution. Therefore, the contenders were divided into four brackets. The Lamborghini Huracán Performante, fortified with additional power from its naturally (and defiantly) aspirated V-10 to complement what is arguably the most innovative active-aero package in production-car history, faces off against the captivating and enigmatic new McLaren 720S for our Supercars crown. In the Grand Tourers category, Bentley’s W-12 Continental Supersports will play the bespoke beast to the Lexus LC 500’s cyberpunk aristocrat. Porsche already won PCOTY with the 991-generation GT3 in 2015, but the cognoscenti-pleasing new option of a six-speed manual transmission makes it a natural fit for Track Stars competition, where it will reprise its Ring rivalry with the brutish Mercedes-AMG GT R and Chevrolet’s Amtrak-like ZL1 1LE. But first up, we have the Wild Cards: The Type R will play the plucky underdog in a cage match with Audi’s wicked-quick TT RS and Alfa Romeo’s unashamedly operatic Giulia Quadrifoglio. After two days on the road and two days at NCM Motorsports Park, our jury of editors selected a winner for each category. A second round of voting chose the Performance Car of the Year from that final four. It’s not about raw lap times, and it’s not about racking up the high score on some kind of stat-sheet version of Space Invaders. The purpose of PCOTY is to find the car that advances the state of the performance art and sets a new standard for its peers. It could be a warp-speed two-ton hammer or a carbon-celled scalpel—but in the end, there can be only one. THE WILD CARDS Alfa Romeo Giulia Quadrifoglio | Audi TT RS | Honda Civic Type R This is an odd group. A Japanese hatchback. A German coupe. An Italian sport sedan. The only common thread is the rarity of the badging, how special each car seems. Honda’s giant red R was last sold in America 16 years ago, on the hyperfocused Acura Integra Type R. This country hasn’t had a new Alfa Romeo sport sedan since the 1990s, much less one with the legendary Quadrifoglio clover. Audi’s RS logo has a long and storied history, and most of that lineage never legally crossed the Atlantic. It used to be that, while the rest of the world got Rs and RSs and four-door Alfas, we just got lust across oceans. Now we have a twin-turbocharged, rear-drive, 505-hp Alfa sedan with an exhaust that knocks birds out of trees. A 306-hp turbo Civic with obscenely large seat bolsters and a mammoth wing. And a five-cylinder Audi that spits out 400 hp and traction whenever you need it. The Audi looks deeply German, reserved and serious, probably because it is. And the Alfa . . . well, it looks like an Alfa. Drive it through a city, and pedestrians literally fall off sidewalks angling for a look. (To the man who tripped into a rural-Tennessee crosswalk while gawping at the Giulia, as I made a left turn: I’m sorry I laughed. It was only because I once stumbled the same way, almost a year ago in Europe, the first time I saw the car.) Somewhere near the Cumberland River, off a road that winds and churns, I fell into a groove with the Audi. Even next to the Civic, it feels a little ordinary—like other TT variants, the RS uses VW’s MQB platform, which also underpins the Volkswagen Atlas and seventh-generation Golf. But the car cracks through switchbacks and whoops without so much as a flinch. The steering is crystal clear and quick enough that you don’t so much guide the car down the road as nudge it through landscape. The suspension offers what feels like yards of travel and remarkable wheel control—more compliance than anything here, save the McLaren—and the twin-clutch gearbox is absurdly quick, one of the best in the world. Mile after mile, the Audi produces little fatigue or work for the driver, just relentless pace. In this company, however, that’s not enough. The TT was the first of this trio to be knocked out, and no one was surprised. Partly because, while the RS is sports-car expensive, it still feels like the world’s best VW Golf. “It’s a smart choice,” editor-in-chief Kim Wolfkill said, “but not especially stirring.” Website director Travis Okulski agreed: “Love the sound from the five-cylinder, but something is missing.” On the track, the 3270-pound TT works well—the car is remarkably quick, with strong brakes and a willingness to swing the back axle in a corner. But you never stop thinking about the raw vibe of old Audis. How those cars oozed aggression, not cold competence. Contributing editor Chris Chilton summed it up. “For me, the best TTs are the cheapest: less grip, less weight, more fun. This is Porsche money, and at that price, it’s out of its depth.” If the RS keeps you at arm’s length, the Alfa grabs you in a bear hug. The cannon-fire exhaust, the styling—it’s as enchanting as the Audi is dry and distant. Surprisingly, though, as we got deep into the backwoods of Tennessee, the Giulia’s fan club shrank. The test started with everyone in love. As the miles racked up, those feelings turned to weary resignation. “No sedan tents your trousers like this,” Chilton noted, “but I was disappointed. The steering is too quick, too light, and has no feel—a nasty combo.” He’s right; the Giulia’s ferocious steering rack and hypersensitive throttle sponge up your attention. Even a sneeze can throw the car off-course or unsettle it in a corner. The Quadrifoglio has so much tire and torque, with excellent damping, and it works so well when you’re cracking the whip, you want to love it. But then you let your guard down for half a second and things get sloppy. You can get unintentionally sideways or make a massive lane departure on a switchback, because you had a hand slip on the wheel. Or you induce a head-jerking stop from the touchy brake-by-wire pedal, because you decided to adjust the radio at the wrong moment. I admire Alfa for cooking up its own dynamic flavor,” deputy editor David Zenlea said. “We didn’t need another BMW imitator.” But toward the end of the first road-test day, even he wasn’t jumping at the keys. Over hundreds of miles of back roads, the Giulia wears on you. The trade-off, admittedly, is an intoxicating track experience: Greasy slides are forever a toe flex away, and the Alfa rewards like few others. When you nail a corner or a drift, the car seems to loosen up and grow more charming, as if to pat you on the back. For better or worse, the sum experience recalls modern Ferraris. Fitting, given that the car’s development was led by an ex-Ferrari engineer. But also frustrating: That man’s previous project, the 458 Speciale, was an amazing car for the first 30 minutes and exhausting for every mile after—just like the Quadrifoglio. Shouldn’t a sport sedan work with you over distance? That leaves the Civic. A machine many of us did not truly understand, or even like that much, at first. The bodywork seems not so much styled as vomited into place. That 7000-rpm turbo four is neither a joyous revver nor particularly charming in normal driving. “It’s more of a buzz than sonorous,” senior editor Matthew de Paula said, “and I miss that high-rpm VTEC fury.” Deputy online editor Bob Sorokanich stepped out of the Civic after a short back-road blast for photography reminiscing about the Hondas of his youth. “It didn’t have that same talkative front end and razor-sharp throttle.” It’d be a lie to say that no one missed the old company vibe, the spirit of the Integra and the S2000. But good Lord, does the Type R hustle. And above all, it shares one thing with the cars of the old-school Big H: Calm and comfortable when you’re cruising, a firecracker when you lean into it. The taillights wag on trailed brake, and the Civic will launch over track curbs or road chuckholes with your foot to the floor, the helical limited-slip clawing away, the car not even remotely slowing down. Topping it all off, no Civic ever had a brake pedal this communicative or effective—the enormous Brembo calipers behind the front wheels virtually evaporate speed. Alone in this group, the Honda begs you to get angry. But it’s also a fully finished piece, capable and resolved at once. “Magic,” Wolfkill said, “and the handling is standout.” Okulski was shocked: “No torque steer. How?” You forgive the styling, that obnoxious wing, the gaudy interior. The Honda wants to be hammered on for days, and unlike with the Alfa or the Audi, you’re thrilled to comply. —Sam Smith GRAND TOURERS Bentley Continental Supersports | Lexus LC 500 These were the hardest cars to suss out at PCOTY. It’s easy to distill what we want from a McLaren (maniacal performance) or even a Civic Type R (maniacal performance, on a budget). But ask a bunch of car-magazine editors what makes the perfect performance grand tourer, and you’ll get a dozen conflicting answers. Congress has an easier time reaching consensus. It didn’t help that our contenders are as far apart as the Sierra Club and the Koch brothers. The Bentley: more than two and a half tons of opulence yanked along by 700 indefatigable horses. The result: otherworldly thrust. Slap the trucklike shifter into Sport and the W-12’s distant thrum moves one room closer as the mansion catapults, flattening your facial features. The big Brit outsprints nearly every other PCOTY competitor, from anywhere on its clock-dial tach. Snap your right foot back and the titanium exhaust pops and rattles extravagantly on deceleration, to help millionaires reminisce about badly tuned carburetors. The experience is old-world, in part because this is actually an old car. The new Supersports spec adds 118 horses and brake-based torque vectoring, but the Continental hasn’t received a significant update since 2011, and the platform traces back to the original Volkswagen Phaeton. The interior reaches back in time, too. The infotainment system is tragically outdated; tech options you get in a Chevy are absent in this $327,985 beast. That said, most of the Bentley’s cabin is timeless. Buttery leather and sumptuous Alcantara line most touchable surfaces. Real metal—polished or knurled, cool to the touch—adorns every dial and knob, with Bentley’s delightfully dainty organ-stop vent controls sprouting from the checkered carbon-fiber trim. Our example’s black, white, and red interior had all the subtlety of a soccer-team uniform—“to the manner born, but it was a bad manner,” contributor Jack Baruth quipped. But sinking into the top-stitched driver’s seat and summoning the volcanic W-12, your concern for others’ opinions vanishes. Conspicuously wealthy appointments, private-jet pace, a hushed but not silent engine always murmuring a tantalizing tale of torque. This is the Bentley approach to performance taken to extreme. Breezing down the highway, it’s a convincing approach. But on switchback country roads or the sinewy NCM circuit, the Bentley’s stately poise unravels. Effortless, unflappable ease boils over into a yard-long brake pedal, mushy steering, and speedboat body control. “Pure, unadulterated, unrelenting acceleration,” Wolfkill said of the Bentley, “in a car that isn’t quite sure what to do once you’ve achieved terminal velocity.” Chilton was more blunt. “On the road at quickish pace, it’s kind of enjoyable,” he admitted. “But I hated it on track. Might as well have been driving an Escalade.” Others found charm in the Bentley’s disdain for the eleventh tenth. “You feel important in the Continental,” Okulski said. Editors consistently felt something else in the Lexus: stunned. “Surprisingly light on its feet,” Wolfkill said of the Lexus. “It changes direction quickly and predictably—not what I was expecting.” Then there’s the noise. On our first morning of track testing, multiple editors scrambled to the pit wall to see which exotic was shouting Mustang rock ’n roll at the Kentucky sky. Imagine their befuddlement as they traced it back to the LC 500’s (decoy) chrome tailpipes. Physics explains a lot of the LC’s athleticism. The Lexus is nearly as long as the Continental but lighter by almost half a ton. Yet the differences between the two cars are even greater than the scales—or, for that matter, the $206,030 spread in base prices—indicate. In its default Normal mode, the LC 500 continues the tradition of unobtrusive, easy driving that has long been a Lexus hallmark. But dial up Sport S+ on the drive-mode knob (one of two sticking out of the gauge binnacle like Frankenstein’s neck bolts) and this quiet cruiser jolts to life. The cushy suspension firms up; the steering, always sharp and direct, quickens noticeably. The 10-speed transmission whip-cracks itself through a fistful of downshifts, keeping the naturally aspirated 5.0-liter V-8 within eyeshot of its 7300-rpm redline at all times. Some wondered if this frenetic alter ego fit the grand-touring vibe. “Do you want to have to rev a GT car to death to get that whoosh of forward momentum?” asked Okulski. Others argued a performance grand tourer should be able to find another metaphorical gear. “It’s about looking pretty, feeling comfortable—and being able to kick ass when occasion calls for it,” Zenlea said. Where the Bentley’s interior evokes old-English charm, the LC 500’s presents a stylish, daring vision of the near future. Someone likened the dashboard to midcentury-modern stereo equipment, a low, wide, horizontal motif flanked by dramatic sweeping curves. The infotainment system, meanwhile, looks newer than the Bentley’s but is somehow even more frustrating. Editors called the LC 500’s infuriating touchpad interface “janky,” “dreaded,” “a nightmare,” and “impossible to use.” Over two days of lapping at NCM, the GPS insisted we veer off track and cut a path to the nearest highway. Nobody could figure out how to deactivate it, so we drowned it out with V-8 music. Voting hour was contentious. Traditionalists raised their hands in favor of the Bentley’s stodgy charm. “It does everything in the proper Bentley way—big, luxurious cruising,” Baruth argued. “They finally made it feel British, special.” Yet the majority—just barely, with design director Matt Tierney pulled in as a tiebreaker—thought the Lexus offered the R&T definition of a GT: a stylish cruiser that can still clip an apex and be steered with the throttle. Consensus may be elusive, but through the messy democracy of PCOTY, the Lexus is the winning candidate.—Bob Sorokanich TRACK STARS Chevrolet Camaro ZL1 1LE | Mercedes-AMG GT R | Porsche 911 GT3 The first line in the 911 GT3’s Driver Logbook sums up the childlike excitement this group of cars engendered. “The engine at 9K! The engine at 9K! The engine at 9K!” Sports cars honed for track driving are like divers’ watches: They look pretty, cost plenty, and are massively overengineered for the use they’re going to get. Driving them on the street is mostly about the great feeling of having all that potential right at hand, being the big dog in any pack. Despite their stiff legs, serious-looking aero mods, and “is it street legal?” rubber, you could use any of these cars as a daily driver—with a few caveats. They’re carpeted, soundproofed, and air-conditioned. “Get in, and if you’ve driven any other Benz, you know how to operate the AMG GT R’s various controls,” Wolfkill said of the big, green monster. “The switchgear is familiar, the environment strangely comforting.” Even the Racing yellow 911, in spite of carbon-fiber bucket seats that defied adjustment, was a darling to drive through backwater towns, thanks in part to its panoramic views and perfectly weighted clutch pedal. The Camaro was no less accommodating. “I only ever drove it on dry, mostly smooth pavement, but this thing felt more sure-footed and comfortable than any track-day special has a right to,” Sorokanich said. These cars were practical in unforeseen ways, as well. Those massive rear wings that create such stability at speed made a sturdy map table when planning our next leg outside Bubba’s BBQ and Grill, in Grimsley, Tennessee. Point is, they might look like race cars—and in some cases they’re even faster than the race cars on which they’re loosely based—but they don’t demand special skills to be driven briskly. Still, there are compromises. Starting with ride quality on anything other than billet-smooth asphalt. The fat 305-section front boots that come with the ZL1’s 1LE package are so easily distracted that holding the steering wheel can feel like walking a pair of police sniffer dogs through a network of crack dens. At least the 1LE’s ride is a huge improvement over the last-generation Z/28’s. Meanwhile, the wide AMG GT R is twitchy, too, with its stiff damping and fast steering rack. To get the best out of it, you must constantly monitor your inputs. That’s also the mind-set you need when approaching the Porsche, with its screaming flat-six that proves both a blessing and a curse. When can you realistically rev it to redline on the street, when 9000 rpm in second gear is good for 83 mph? At least this GT3 is easier to tool around in than its predecessor, as the engine has been stroked, from 3.8 to 4.0 liters. There’s more torque down low, so you don’t have to rev to redline for scorching acceleration. The Porsche nevertheless feels slower than the Camaro and GT R, both of which pair honking V-8s with forced induction. Driving the GT3 on the street is ultimately about the melodrama: a high-rpm shriek that could shame an F1 car, and throttle response so sharp, it could snap you in two. “It just hits that car-enthusiast sweet spot,” de Paula noted. Of course, track cars are ultimately about the track. Back-of-an-SCCA-license-form calculations and familiarity with the 911 suggested the Porsche, the lightest car of the three, might keep the more powerful GT R honest at the NCM circuit, where the steering wheel is almost never straight. Wrong. The AMG was outrageously rapid, more than four seconds faster than the GT3. The GT R reminded us of the Viper ACR we had here two years ago in its rock-solid stability through NCM’s fast Turn 5, its outright grip on a sticky set of tires, and its composure under braking. At least those are the subjective impressions of where the AMG saved time. When we started dissecting the VBOX data, it turns out that the Mercedes was indeed faster in those spots—but also everywhere else. The GT R hit the highest speeds on the straights, braked later, and carried more speed through the turns. Getting out of those turns was made easy, thanks to that yellow, knurled traction-control dial on the console. With the nine-position knob set dead-center, one can stand on the GT R’s right pedal as soon as the corner opens up. For those chasing that last hundredth of a second—and there were a few at PCOTY—the GT R is the perfect tool. And that’s exactly what it feels like: a tool—a ruthless, brutally efficient device for systematically tearing apart lap times. But fastest doesn’t always equate to most fun. The slower 911’s signature handling, the way it demands you keep that light front end happy before turning your attention to the rear, offers more of a challenge. As does its manual transmission. The three-pedal setup is back by po[CENSORED]r demand after a four-year sabbatical. But over four days of testing, there were as many voices admitting they’d rather have a PDK as there were rhapsodizing about the interactive delights of the stick’s sublime action. “Shifting the manual gearbox interrupts the glorious revving for just a touch too long,” Wolfkill said. Editor-at-large Sam Smith, who’s driven both manual and PDK variants, pointed out another difference beyond the tactility of the manual shifter: packaging limitations mean stick-shift GT3s can’t be fitted with the PDK’s torque-vectoring differential. “Without that diff, you have to work harder to turn the car,” Smith said. “It feels more like a classic 911.” That kind of dynamic might be great for true 911 buffs, but it also might be one reason why, of this trio, the Camaro spent the least amount of time idling on pit lane. Everyone queued up to drive it, hammering the Brembo brakes that make light of the 3842-pound heavyweight, leaning on those colossal tires and throwing gears at the 650-hp V-8 via a shifter that’s lighter and slicker than expected, given what it’s bolted to. “You could remove every other gear in this car’s transmission and just drive everywhere in third, with no appreciable impact on fun,” Sorokanich said. The ZL1 just sucked it up, lap after lap, like the Labrador that keeps chasing a stick for as long as you’re willing to throw it. It’s one of those great cars that demand little from a driver but reward anyway. Those with less experience on the NCM track never felt intimidated, and those with bulging notebooks testifying to seat time in similar cars felt like they were really getting under its skin. And, of course, it is fast. The Camaro clocked a lap time of 1:32.15, beating the 911 by 24 hundredths. And did we mention the price? We try not to in this competition. But when a machine costs half as much as a 911 GT3 and is faster around a racetrack, while plastering a grin across the face of everyone who drives it, the fact that said car is such a bargain makes it even more noteworthy. All in, the GT R’s impressive lap time showcases what an incredible job AMG has done turning the so-so GT into a proper driver’s car, and the 911 is as nuanced as it ever was. But the egalitarian ZL1 1LE won us over. Underdog, you say? Überdog, is more like.—Chris Chilton SUPERCARS Lamborghini Huracán Performante | McLaren 720S Two supercars, each alike in dignity—except that is far from the case. Not quite chalk and cheese, what we have here is swagger and sleek. First, the Huracán, running foot to the floor through fourth gear in Strada (street) mode, surprising the wildlife on the far side of the tarmac, appearing from nowhere with shark-shaped, nose-down, wings-and-spoilers greenburst. Only when it’s almost gone do you hear the 8500-rpm roar blasting from heat-blued pipes in the Kamm-cut, Reventón-style tail section. All green up front, all black in back, with aero add-ons ahead, around, and behind, crafted from this improbable-looking, milky-textured carbon composite that also pervades the interior. There are moments when you catch the car in repose, perhaps trailing it on the freeway during the transit sections that connect our back-road runs, and from the rear three-quarter angle, it fairly screams: “Jalpa!” Something about the combination of the big, blind sail panels and set-in doors. It’s the junior Lamborghini, and you can trace its heritage back 40 years. But don’t be fooled. The rest of the car is Essence of Diablo, refined and concentrated and bottled neatly in the unashamed retro wedge shape and the naked aggression of the Performante upgrades. The competition has all eaten of the forced-induction apple, but Lamborghini remains serenely in paradise with its 5.2-liter naturally aspirated V-10, now pushing 630 hp through an all-wheel-drive system that makes less use of the front axle than the rear. The power is omnipresent, undeniable, seamless. Flick the column-mounted paddles down once or twice and objects in the trapezoidal flat windshield are suddenly closer than they appeared. “Feels like sitting inside Bertone’s doorstop,” said road test editor Kyle Kinard, and he’s right. No matter where we went, the Performante was the unchallenged star of the show. The McLaren 720S might have those fabulous dihedral doors, but to the man on the street who doesn't know what it is, the car still has that faint fiberglass whiff of kit car to it, as if there just might be an old Volks-wagen Beetle lurking under there somewhere. By contrast, the Huracán has unchallenged provenance, an aristocracy of sorts where the family portraits aren’t oil paintings in the main hall, but rather glossy posters on the wall of every teenaged boy’s room since 1979. It traces its lineage directly back to the Miura and requires no explanation whatsoever. Okulski was moved to superlatives. “The first ‘complete’ car Lamborghini has ever built. There isn’t a glaring flaw, it’s just brilliant and special through and through. The best Huracán—and best Lamborghini—ever.” That word, “complete,” came up again and again in the discussions that peppered our driver changes. You can let it idle for half an hour in a parking lot on a 95-degree day and it won’t complain. The Huracán’s Gallardo predecessor claimed to be an “everyday supercar,” but some of us felt that Lamborghini went light on the “supercar” part in order to make the “everyday” side work. No such compromise here. Up gnarled hillside roads, the Performante could reel in the others at will. It might not have the most power in our group, but it delivers immediately, sans turbo lag or a time-consuming shift. You sit right up front, just three feet from the wheels that steer, and it sometimes feels like you can see around the turn. Without peer in the realm of conventional supercars, the Performante should be a lock for the win here. There’s just one problem: The McLaren 720S is utterly unconventional. You can feel it the moment you settle into the embrace of the close-coupled seats, which sit 15 inches inboard of the door skins and leave just enough room for the Lord between them. The Huracán might as well be an F-150 by comparison; it comes from the old school, where Countach owners expected to be separated from their passenger by a foot’s worth of lightly wrinkled leather paneling. The 720S has controls scattered hither and yon, tucked into such furrows and recesses as McLaren could carve out of the cockpit. There’s a bit of style that was lacking in the previous-generation 650S, yet the cabin’s main attraction is its minimalism, which makes it seem roomier and ultimately more comfortable. “I especially appreciate the amount of light it lets in,” said Wolfkill. “So different from the typically cramped and dark supercar cabin.” This is a machine with performance to raise the dead. It takes a bit of poking and prodding to activate the secondary settings for engine response, active aero, and suspension control, but no matter which way you shuffle that deck, you will be humbled by the power on hand. The McLaren leaps to 150 mph from a crawl. In lower gears, you might not be able to click the wheel-mounted paddle on the right quickly enough to keep up with the manic 4.0-liter V-8 as it turbo-whistles across the tach. On the boil, nothing short of a Kawasaki ZX-10RR has a prayer of keeping up with the McLaren. Maybe the hybrid hypercars, if their batteries were full. And when the first curve comes, you dial in the perfect amount of steering as if you’ve studied the car your whole life, and that’s when nothing can touch it. A 710-hp, rear-drive supercar could be forgiven for being difficult. This one isn't. The 720S will educate you, teach you what it needs with subtle touches of feedback in the steering and brake pedal. The car feels so natural, just like an old Formula Ford that happens to have acquired a commercial jetliner engine. “It’s an obviously digital thing, but it feels analog. And it succeeds masterfully. This is the future of sports cars and supercars,” Okulski noted. If the Lamborghini is pure theater, the McLaren is pure purpose. The 650S and sublime 675LT were a little light on rear visibility, so now the 720S has see-through rear roof pillars. The headlights are strong enough to expunge the mystery from a triple-digit nighttime blast. Finally, there’s the ride, which is a magic carpet courtesy of the second-generation hydraulic suspension. The Lamborghini can rattle your teeth on rough pavement; the 720S won’t even spill your soda. Sorokanich spoke for the group when he called the McLaren “the friendliest, least intimidating supercar I’ve ever experienced.” This pussycat is more than what’s new in supercars; it is also what’s best, what’s fastest, what’s most capable. As such, the 720S was the easy winner of our vote, with only your humble author and a few other Countach-poster holdouts in sullen dissent. Wolfkill doubled down: “If the Huracán represents the ultimate evolution of the old-school supercar, then the McLaren is the embodiment of the new-school approach.”—Jack Baruth THE FINALISTS And then there were four—the Chevrolet Camaro ZL1 1LE, Honda Civic Type R, Lexus LC 500, and McLaren 720S. You’d be hard-pressed to choose a broader-spectrum anti-biotic for creeping automotive disinterest, yet at the core, each of these cars expresses a similarly uncompromising approach to performance-focused engineering. They’re loaded with things that you only notice after long examination: the heavy-duty steering knuckles on the Civic, the combination knob/switch used by the Lexus to adjust the shocks and relax the stability control, the knee bolstering on the Camaro’s center console, the way the TFT dashboard on the McLaren Fosbury-flops out of the way for unimpeded vision on a racetrack. You can have opinions about the Civic’s aero package or the McLaren’s socketed headlamps, but you can’t say that our final four don’t bring their A game in nearly every aspect that matters to a driver. In years past, the PCOTY voting process has taken as long as four hours, often laced with impassioned speeches, tense disagreements, and uncomfortable bouts of soul-searching. Not this time. A single round of discussion and voting took a fraction of that. Our eight editors each assigned a ranking to the finalists. The rankings were added and averaged to provide the final results. Only two cars received first-place votes, and the mathematical distance between each place turned out to be unequivocal. In fourth position we have the Lexus LC 500. “Never felt wallowy, oversized, or heavy, either on street or track,” noted Sorokanich. This unabashedly design-centric exercise in prestige-coupe production should have been out of its league among the hard-edged, apex-focused competition. The fact that it held its own on track and in fast driving, bellowing a Talladega battle cry through its ornamental exhaust and cranking into every corner with a Supra’s worth of tail-out attitude was more than enough to earn our admiration. Yet this is a platform that fairly cries out for the full F-for-Fuji treatment. If the powers that be at Lexus think the brand can stretch to accommodate a fiercer and faster variant of the LC, we’d be delighted to give it another shot at the title. The third spot goes to the Civic Type R. Let’s get the low points out of the way in a hurry: The engine rarely feels fast and never comes across as particularly furious, the steering can seem inert, and the visual package is, shall we say, controversial. Chilton was properly cutting: “Even if it was quicker than the AMG, I couldn’t forgive those fake bumper grilles.” None of those problems will stop the Type R from sporting additional-dealer-markup stickers for some time to come, however, because this is a Honda truly worthy of the coveted red badge. In a market segment where some competitors are gelded by crossover-grade all-wheel drive and a ’77 Cutlass Supreme’s worth of curb weight, the Civic shines despite, and by virtue of, its fealty to the original hot-hatch template. “It possesses the unique ability to be driven like a front-wheel-drive car when it’s convenient—back it into turns under trail braking to get it rotated—without suffering from typical front-drive hang-ups under acceleration,” said Wolfkill. And the almost cosplay-like dedication to Nineties Ginza chic, while not everyone’s taste, will create a lot of fanatics and inspire plenty of tattoos. Most important, it’s a reminder that Honda still cares about its enthusiast owners. Two editors cast first-place votes for the Camaro ZL1 1LE, and no wonder. The big-box Chevrolet seems to vibrate from the tires up with a sort of manic pixie dream pony-car joyfulness. “Still big and heavy, but that makes it all the more impressive,” Okulski said. “The only limiting factor on track time is the amount of fuel in the tank—it could run for days straight.” If the C7 Corvette Z06 is a very good car, and the previous-generation Camaro Z/28 was a flat-out great car, then this combination is somehow even better than the sum of its impressive parts. Capable of running with $200,000 supercars, yet easily serviceable at your local GM dealer, the ZL1 1LE is a stunning statement of intent and an example of what America’s biggest car company can do when it lets engineers turn their dreams into reality. God bless it for existing. 2018 Performance Car of The Year: McLaren 720S Those of us who have been fortunate enough to drive McLaren’s exemplary 650S and utterly indomitable 675LT approached the McLaren 720S with no small amount of trepidation. There didn’t seem to be anything that needed fixing in the previous generation of the Super Series cars, particularly with regard to the longtail variant. In one respect, we were right to be worried. The 720S makes no pretensions to the rough-hewn rattle-and-clank Le Mans–series histrionics of the 675LT, and it can’t quite match that car’s concert-master touch on a road course. Not to worry. There is surely an uninsulated track-oriented variant on the way. In the meantime, the new McLaren effortlessly earns the PCOTY laurels by performing the near-impossible: It rides better than the Bentley, outhandles the aero-intensive Huracán, and leaves the snorting Camaro dead to rights in a drag race, all while making its driver feel like the most special person in the world. You could own this car for a lifetime and never grow tired of the pur sang manner in which it conquers everything from a 200-mph blitz to the commuting crawl. No street car in history has offered a better driving position, a more immediate command of the road, or a better integration of usability and capability. And, not for nothing, it’s improved in every possible respect from the 650S, which was already one of the world’s most competent supercars. In this fearsomely strong field of 10 brilliant automobiles, only this one truly advances the state of the art. The fact that it does so in the exospheric environment of the super-cum-hypercar only serves to underline the degree of difficulty involved. Inhumanly sleek, monstrously quick, reassuringly approachable, the McLaren 720S is our 2018 Performance Car of the Year.

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It is just over five years since I bought my Better Place Renault 2012 Fluence ZE in Israel—and a little over five months since I returned it to Israel’s Renault importer for a cash settlement. By that time, the 22-kilowatt-hour battery capacity was down to 11.3 kwh, and a warning light had been on continuously since July 2016. I gave up on my first electric car, and switched to a Hyundai hybrid. DON'T MISS: Early Better Place Customer On Israel Electric-Car Experience (Apr 2012) That’s exactly what two men—Better Place CEO, Shai Agassi and Carlos Ghosn, CEO of the Renault Nissan Alliance—wanted to avoid. “So what do you think of hybrids?” Agassi asked Ghosn. “I think they make no sense,” Ghosn shot back. “A hybrid is like a mermaid: If you want a fish, you get a woman. If you want a woman, you get a fish.” When I bought my electric car in 2012, I also signed up for a subscription to a service that should have let me drive anywhere in Israel, pausing only for a 5-minute battery switch if I needed to drive further than the car’s 100-mile (160-km) range. The reality was more like 120 km (75 miles) of range, the switch stations and public infrastructure disappeared after about two years, and my Renault's battery condition collapsed to less than 50 percent of its rated capacity in less than four years. The story of the collapse of Better Place has now been told in a new book by a fellow Better Place driver, Brian Blum. READ THIS: Better Place Electric Renault Fluence ZE In Israel: 1st Week (May 2012) In Totaled: The Billion dollar crash of the startup that took on big auto, big oil and the world, Brian has provided a great deal of background to the story that even I hadn't known. The book manages to present a coherent story while packing in a huge amount of detail from numerous behind-the-scenes interviews conducted by the author. I came relatively late to the idea of Better Place, and I came with huge skepticism. The book tells the complete story, from the start of Agassi's idea to accelerate the move toward electric cars, through the adoption of battery switching as the answer to range problems, and into the massive fund raising, spending, and eventual collapse. The only significant actor in the story who didn’t speak to Brian Blum was the enigmatic Shai Agassi. He was the driving force behind the entire idea, but has said barely anything in the years since its May 2013 collapse. He had already been fired from Better Place in October 2012, several months before. CHECK OUT: One Year With Better Place: Electric-Car Driver's Report (May 2013) Only after the book came out did he give an interview (in Hebrew) in which he contradicts some of the book's claims and appears to throw considerable blame at the Israeli Government. Certainly the Israeli Government never completely supported Better Place. However, Totaled lays a fair amount of blame for the eventual failure on Agassi himself. Personally, after reading the book, I’d liken the reasons for the failure to those of an air crash: there may have been no single error, but a collection of compounding decisions and changes in the business environment caused the failure. Agassi’s arrogance is demonstrated well in a meeting in Detroit with General Motors just as GM was developing its range-extended electric 2011 Chevrolet Volt. But it had a tailpipe, something Agassi wouldn’t allow in any future vision he had. After presenting his no-compromise, all-electric, battery-switching vision, Agassi was only capable of seeing it his own way: “The next meeting we have,” Agassi said, “it’ll be at our headquarters.” “Why’s that?” GM's Mike Granoff asked. “Because we’ll have the bigger market capitalization,” Agassi replied without blinking.

COLUMBIA, Tenn. — On Monday, nothing changed. If you live, as I do, in the heart of Trump country, you know there is no chance that the indictment of Donald Trump’s ex-campaign chairman Paul Manafort, or the guilty plea of a former foreign policy adviser, George Papadopoulos, will alter our political dynamics. Mr. Trump’s supporters will stand by their man. After all, they’ve stood by him through worse, through events and allegations that implicate Mr. Trump himself. It’s an unfortunate truth that the Republican base not only accepts but also often angrily defends conduct from Mr. Trump that they would never, ever accept in a Democratic president. Forget this week’s news for a moment and take a look at the recent past. Would Republicans have stood idly by if Barack Obama fired an F.B.I. director during an investigation of the president’s top aides and then misled Americans about the reason? Would conservatives tolerate a President Hillary Clinton demanding that praying football players keep their religion to themselves, then calling for firings and boycotts if they didn’t comply? The interesting question isn’t whether so many Republicans are demonstrating a striking degree of hypocrisy, but why. No modern Republican president or nominee has been perfect, by any means, but no one can fairly compare their conduct and character to Donald Trump. Since Gerald Ford they have been, to varying degrees, good men. They all upheld and defended American constitutional traditions. They fought hard and tried to win, but there were clear lines of civility and propriety they would not cross. In other words, for 40 years after the fall of Richard Nixon, it was easy to proclaim that character mattered and still pull the lever for a Republican. In 2016, however, a commitment to virtue became costly. In the battle between virtue and politics, virtue lost, and it’s losing still. I’d like to dwell on two reasons. The first is easy to name — negative polarization. The Pew Research Center has outlined the undeniable growth in enmity between left and right. The parties are not only more ideologically extreme, but partisans are now motivated mainly by antipathy toward the other side. This phenomenon explains why reluctant Republicans would pull the lever for Mr. Trump even if he was their “last choice.” They were voting in perceived self-defense, and he fights hard against the people they dislike the most. But this doesn’t entirely explain the curious unwillingness to face bad facts or to critique the most baldfaced lies. Talk to folks in Trump country, and you quickly understand that most of them don’t just want to win, they also want to be good. They want to be proud of their movement. They see themselves as good people, and they want to root for a good man. The desire to think the best of Mr. Trump combined with the deep distaste for Democrats grants extraordinary power to two phrases: “fake news” and “the other side is worse.” “Fake news” erects a shield of disbelief against the worst allegations and allows a person to believe that Mr. Trump is better than he is. For too many Republicans, every single troubling element of the Russia investigation — including multiple administration falsehoods about contacts with Russian officials — represents “fake news.” This week’s news can be waved away. Mr. Manafort’s conduct had nothing to do with the campaign, they argue, even though the investigation continues and even though Mr. Trump showed terrible judgment in bringing him on the team. Mr. Papadopoulos was a nobody, they say, even as his guilty plea outlines multiple contacts with a “campaign supervisor” who seemed to encourage him. And the disbelief isn’t limited to Russia. In a recent poll, a mere 8 percent of Trump voters believe sexual assault and sexual harassment claims against him are credible. This even though he was caught on tape bragging about groping women and in spite of more than a dozen allegations of serious misconduct. But what about when the misconduct is plain for all to see? Then we move to “the other side is worse.” Rage and fear overwhelm, and the desire for goodness recedes. The extreme edge of the #Resistance is the gift that keeps on giving. In some cases, the actions of the president are deemed less significant than the outrages of celebrities and comedians. Sure, Mr. Trump tweeted, but did you see that Kathy Griffin beheading picture? For Christian conservatives in particular, these double standards are understandable (who isn’t tempted to compromise for the sake of victory, especially now?) but not defensible. Is the rage that accompanies negative polarization consistent with commands to love even our enemies and bless those who persecute us? There is so little humility. There is so much anger. And the Republican character corrodes. I’m reminded of an encounter at my church. People know that I opposed both Mr. Trump and Mrs. Clinton. They often ask what I think of the president’s performance. My standard response: I like some things, I dislike others, but I really wish he showed better character. I don’t want him to lie. I said this to a sweet older lady not long ago, and she responded — in all sincerity — “You mean Trump lies?” “Yes,” I replied. “All the time.” She didn’t answer with a defense. She didn’t say “fake news.” We’d known each other for years, and she trusted my words. For a moment, she seemed troubled. I wanted to talk more — to say that we can appreciate and applaud the good things he does, but we can’t ignore his flaws, we can’t defend his sins, and we can’t let him define the future of the Republican Party. But just then, her jaw set. I saw a flare of defiance in her eyes. She took a sip of coffee, looked straight at me, and I knew exactly what was coming next: “Well, the Democrats are worse.”

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Boutique car manufacturers come and go, often without ever having produced a single viable vehicle. When Gordon Murray announces that he’s going to launch his own performance car company, though, we snap to attention. Murray, the mind behind the legendary McLaren F1 (not to mention a host of racing cars), has long railed against weight and complexity of today’s high-powered cars. So it’s worth keeping an eye his automotive endeavors -- he gets it, man! Vehicles from Murray’s new company will be built using the so-called iStream production system, which he’s been pushing for years now. Conceived as a whole process for designing and assembling cars, at iStream's core is a composite cell structure a bit like McLaren’s Monocage. The idea is that this structure can be used to underpin a wide range of vehicles, from tiny city pods to rear-wheel-drive sports cars. In this case, we're looking at the latter: Murray's company claims it will start out with a performance offering that promises to "buck the current trend for ever more complicated and heavy vehicles." We’ve seen hints of its potential in a cool Yamaha concept from 2015, and the relaunched TVR is said to build a classic front-mid-engine GT around the structure. Because it’s such a versatile, modular system (or so goes the sales pitch), iStream should help enable production of low-volume niche-market vehicles -- you know, the kind Autoweek readers tend to be interested in -- at a relatively attainable cost. Indeed, a statement from Gordon Murray Automotive says building cars for a range of clients is still the goal; perhaps after years of shopping iStream around to other manufacturers, Murray and Co. decided to just do it themselves. But that’s all a little further down the road. We’re very curious to see how Murray’s first new car, the company’s flagship model, will come off. “With our first new car, we will demonstrate a return to the design and engineering principles that have made the McLaren F1 such an icon,” Murray says. Sounds good to us.

The actress Ashley Judd, one of the first women to publicly accuse Hollywood giant Harvey Weinstein of sexual harassment, has given her first TV interview about the unfolding scandal, going into more detail about her alleged encounter with Weinstein, and why she felt unable to go public at the time it occurred. Speaking to Diane Sawyer on ABC's Good Morning America, Judd recalled an incident she relayed in a New York Times piece in early October, in which she alleged that she entered a hotel room in 1997 for a business meeting with Weinstein, which ended in the mogul suggesting she give him a massage or watch him shower. "I had no warning," Judd said. "I remember the lurch when I went to the desk, and I said, 'Uh, Mr Weinstein, is he on the patio?' And they said, 'He's in his room', and I was like – [sigh] are you kidding me?" Defending her decision to go to his room, Judd said, firmly: "I had a business appointment. Which is his pattern of sexual predation. It's how he rolled." Adding of the encounter, Judd said: "There's this constant grooming/negotiation going on. I thought no meant no. I fought with this volley of nos, which he ignored. Who knows? Maybe he'd heard them as maybe, maybe he heard them as yeses, maybe they turned him on, I don't know." Judd tells Sawyer that she ended up bartering with Weinstein in order to get out of the room, recalling that she said that if Weinstein wanted to touch her, she would have to win an Oscar for a role in one of his movies. Asked why she did such a thing, Judd said: "Am I proud of that? I'm of two minds. The part that shames myself says no. The part of me that understands the way shame works says, 'That was absolutely brilliant; Good job, kid; You got out of there, well done.' "It's a very important word: shame. And it's a very important thing to talk about. So we all do the best we can. And our best is good enough. And it's really okay to have responded however we responded." She also recalled an incident in 1999 in which Weinstein reminded her of their "agreement". At a dinner party, Judd remembered being sat across from him when he told her, "'Remember that little agreement we made? Think I've got that script for you. Hey, just looking around for the material. Alongside Morgan Freeman in 1997's Kiss the Girls "I had just reached the up with which I could not put," she recalled. "I had come into my own, I had come into my power, I had found my voice, and I was coming right at him, Diane. "And he looked at me, across the table, and said, 'You know, Ashley, I'm gonna let you out of that little agreement that we made.' And I said, 'You do that, Harvey, you do that.' And he has spat my name at me ever since." Asked why she didn't come forward at the time, Judd said that she had privately spoken about the incident to agents, fellow actors and other Hollywood figures, but felt she couldn't go public with the accusation. "If I could go back retrospectively with a magic wand and say, 'I wish I could prevent, I wish I could prevent it for anyone, always'... I don't know if I would have been believed.

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Mercedes-Benz E-Class Manufacturer image CARS.COM — The Mercedes-Benz E-Class is slated to get a few updates, including added technology and cabin enhancements, but what has us excited are the changes coming under the hood for the coupe and cabriolet versions of the mid-size luxury car. The 2018 E-Class was only offered in E300 or E400 variants, but the new version will get three new models with three new engines: E220 d, E200 and E350. Both the E220 d and E200 come with 4Matic all-wheel drive, while the E350 is rear-wheel drive. The big story here is the new engine dropping into the E350 variants. Mercedes' stated development goal for this engine (as it seems to have been for many automakers over the past several years) is to produce V-6 power with something akin to four-cylinder efficiency. The 2.0-liter four-cylinder uses twin-scroll turbochargers for better power production at low rpm, and the engine has an output of 299 horsepower and 295 pounds-feet of torque. It will be mated to a nine-speed automatic transmission. What makes the engine interesting, however, is not its output; while this is impressive power out of a four-cylinder engine, it doesn't make it unique in today's environment. Mercedes-Benz has added a 48-volt electrical system, which is four times more powerful than the usual 12-volt systems found in most cars. This system powers a more robust, belt-driven starter-alternator and the electric water pump. Mercedes says the addition of a more robust starter system smooths out the engine restart process enough that it can function as a very mild hybrid. It can provide boost to the engine at lower rpm, and it allows the engine to shut off while gliding or coasting down the road (which also improves fuel economy) with a near-seamless restart. The E350 is also outfitted with regenerative braking to help recharge the system, and Mercedes says that the more powerful electrical system could potentially power further expansions of infotainment and driver-assistance systems. Estimated fuel economy for the E350 is roughly 35 mpg combined for both coupe and cabriolet models. Mercedes-Benz E-Class Manufacturer image The other two new engines and trims are more straightforward. The E220 d gets a 194-hp, 2.0-liter four-cylinder diesel that makes 295 pounds-feet of torque, and it has an estimated fuel economy of about 48 mpg combined for coupe models and 46 mpg combined for the cabriolet. The final engine, found in E200 variants, is a 184-hp, 2.0-liter four-cylinder that makes 221 pounds-feet of torque, and it offers 34 mpg combined for the coupe and 32 mpg combined for the cabriolet. Now is the time where we note that this announcement applies for the European-spec versions of the E-Class, and we cannot yet confirm which powertrains will be bound for American shores. If I had to hazard a guess, it would be that the two gas engines will make it here, while the diesel is a 50/50 proposition at best.

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NATIONAL DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AWARENESS MONTH, 2017 - - - - - - - BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA A PROCLAMATION Domestic violence is never acceptable. During National Domestic Violence Awareness Month, I call on all Americans to promote the safety and liberty of the women, men, and children who are subjected to violent, intimidating, or controlling behavior at the hands of those closest to them. All humans have inherent dignity, and no one deserves to be in an abusive relationship. While the rate of domestic violence in our country has decreased over the last two decades, domestic violence continues to spread across our Nation. Nearly 1 in 4 American women aged 18 and older have been the victim of physical violence by an intimate partner, and domestic violence is still the leading cause of injury to women. Emotional abuse is also sadly too prevalent in our communities, and can inflict deep scars on those caught in an up-and-down cycle of belittling, aggressive behavior even in what can feel like a healthy relationship. We share a moral obligation to recognize, address, and stop domestic violence. Each of us must be a voice for those suffering in silence and must speak up when we see signs of physical or emotional abuse. Together we can bolster victims' support networks and encourage and empower them to report offenses. We recognize and applaud the many advocates, clergy, victim-service providers, educators, law enforcement officers, family members, and friends who render daily aid to victims of harmful and destructive relationships, often as first responders. Tens of thousands of women and children find refuge in domestic violence emergency shelters and transition housing each day, but thousands more are turned away. That is why the Department of Health and Human Services and the Department of Housing and Urban Development are engaged in the critical work of funding domestic violence shelters and hotlines. And each year, the Department of Justice Office on Violence Against Women awards hundreds of millions of Federal grant dollars to support law enforcement efforts to assist victims and hold offenders accountable. During National Domestic Violence Awareness Month, I encourage Americans affected by domestic violence to seek help. Your neighbors, places of worship, community, and Nation stand ready to support you. I remain deeply committed to ensuring that our Nation is one where all may live free of fear, violence, and abuse, especially in their own homes. NOW, THEREFORE, I, DONALD J. TRUMP, President of the United States of America, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and the laws of the United States, do hereby proclaim October 2017 as National Domestic Violence Awareness Month. I call on all Americans to stand firm in condemning domestic violence and supporting victims of these crimes in finding the safety and recovery they need and to support, recognize, and trust in the efforts of law enforcement to hold offenders accountable, protect victims of crime and their communities, and prevent future violence. IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have hereunto set my hand this twenty-ninth day of September, in the year of our Lord two thousand seventeen, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and forty-second. DONALD J. TRUMP

New-car shoppers have few sources as trustworthy as Consumer Reports. We know it doesn’t accept ad money, so automakers and parts suppliers have a hard time influencing their scores. On top of that, the nonprofit actually buys or leases the vehicles and has testers stick to the facts. Anyone can be wowed by a new car, but this group does its best to stick to nuts-and-bolts stuff. You never see a list of prettiest or coolest cars from Consumer Reports. Instead, you get hard data on fuel economy and information on how dependable each model proves to be. The predicted reliability ratings for 2018 should inspire the same type of confidence in anyone shopping for a new car. Likewise, the models that ranked at the bottom of the pack ought to give you pause before going through with a purchase. These cars and SUVs got the worst feedback from drivers and professional testers over the past year. Here are the least reliable vehicles in the Consumer Reports survey for 2018. 10. Chevrolet Camaro We know Camaro is among the worst cars for visibility, but its high road score and impeccable owner satisfaction make its reliability rating a puzzler. There were a few areas (paint, exhaust) that saw declines over the past few years, but the feedback on its transmission system made it a flop in 2017. Other weak spots of recent years (e.g., power equipment, electronics) remained unreliable, while Camaro’s drive system also floundered.

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Photo: AP. Donald Trump, Melania Trump October 27, 2017 03:24 AM A massive advertising campaign is part of the Trump administration's plan to attack America's opioid crisis. Yet an AP Fact Check finds that such campaigns in the past have failed to have a strong impact on drug use among the young. President Donald Trump is focusing on advertising to discourage young people from trying drugs. In declaring opioid overdoses a public health emergency, the president said he thinks "really tough, really big, really great advertising" will become "the most important thing." Yet government and academic assessments of "Just Say No"-style messages have repeatedly shown poor results. A study funded by the National Institutes of Health found a nearly $1 billion national campaign designed to discourage use of illegal drugs among young people had no favorable effects on their behavior.