The Story of the Lamborghini Huracán

Lamborghini has always been the extrovert’s choice. Quiet, bookish, better-off-alone types dare not enter here. This is the house of the raging bull—home of testosterone and unbridled hetero-normative lustiness. If Dwayne Johnson were a car, he would not be a beautiful Ferrari or a high-tech McLaren or a svelte Aston Martin—he would be a Lamborghini: bulging muscles and bright colours and booming voice.

It’s no surprise, then, that four out of five action films choose Lamborghinis: Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy, Gone in 60 Seconds, James Bond’s Die Another Day, and who could forget Cannonball Runs 1 to 3.

On their reputation alone, Lamborghinis offer themselves up as an antidote for years spent behind desks and computer screens—an outlet for a lifetime of unused adrenaline.

The names of the great Lamborghinis still ring out: Miura, Countach, Diablo, Murcielago, Gallardo.

Born into that sort of a family, this newest Lamborghini—called the Huracán—looks comparatively tame. It is, dare we say, beautiful. Perhaps even the most beautiful car to come out of Centro Stile since Miura production stopped in 1973. The sharp edges are gone, smoothed over, but the wedge-shaped silhouette is unmistakably Lamborghini. An action hero for a new age.

It would then be easy to assume that this new Lamborghini isn’t as extroverted as its predecessors. And you’d be correct. It is a friendlier, more approachable sort of Lamborghini. Although it hasn’t lost anything in terms of raw performance.

A beautiful 5.2-litre V10 sits under glass, just behind the driver and passenger. It makes 610 horsepower and there’s nary a turbo or supercharger in sight. Lamborghini assured us they’ll stick to these glorious, naturally aspirated engines until governmental emissions regulations force them to do otherwise. Political correctness was, blessedly, never high on their list of priorities. Indeed, traditions die hard in Sant’Agata Bolognese, the home of Lamborghini, and just as they spurn turbo’s fuel economy numbers, the company likewise refuses to give their cars easily pronounceable names.

Officially the “h” in Huracán is silent, but come on, we’re all going to call it the Lamborghini Hurricane, aren’t we? (Indeed, huracán is the Spanish word for hurricane.) As per tradition, the car is named for a Spanish fighting bull who spilled plenty of blood in the Alicante around 1879. He was reportedly “defiant and invincible” and remained undefeated.

Paradoxically, the doors don’t open Lambo-style but regular style. The interior is minimalist fixed with futurism. The instruments, all digital. Fighter-jet-like toggle switches control mundane functions. The stalks for the turn signals and wipers have been removed; those functions are now handled by buttons on the steering wheel. Where the stalks used to be are a pair of slender paddles for shifting the new double clutch doppia frizione gearbox.

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On the highway in light traffic, the Huracán is surprisingly calm, except for the disconcerting fact that its roof is below the wheels of most trucks. The ride is surprisingly comfortable. The controls are easy.

As the city disappears and highway turns to windy mountain road, the Huracán shows it’s still an extrovert—just like its predecessors. The V10 sounds best flat out. And that’s when it provides the most heart-pounding acceleration, too. It doesn’t snap your head back instantly like a turbo would, but rather presses you into the seat gradually as the rate of acceleration increases. By the time it reaches 6,000 rpm your neck muscles are straining. Zero to 200 km/h comes in just 9.9 seconds.

Four-wheel drive will save you from yourself. Ask for too much power too early, and the car will simply shuffle it to the wheels with the most grip. Result: the car goes where you point it. Always with haste.

The Huracán is so impressive because it takes those old-school Lamborghini qualities—superlative drama, speed, noise, testosterone—and hides them away, only to be unleashed when you’re in the mood.