Tighter, Brighter Lincoln LS Is Not Your Auntie’s Car

“Welcome,” beamed Jim Rogers, vice president of marketing for Lincoln Mercury. “To bigger than ‘Ben-Hur.’ ”

Bigger than what part? Messala getting stomped into the sand by a two-horsepower chariot? Or Judah Ben-Hur leading the Galley Slaves Union many centuries before ascending to the throne of the National Rifle Assn.?

“Bigger than all of it,” Rogers insisted.

Clearly, his metaphor played more to the production than the product as Ford-Jaguar-Aston-Martin-Mazda-Volvo-Lincoln-Mercury pulled out all the stops and most special effects for the media and industry introduction of the lighter, tighter, smaller 2000 Lincoln LS luxury sport sedan.

Lincoln re-energized most of the decommissioned Treasure Island Naval Air Station for the event, actually causing a citywide shortage of electricians and carpenters during the three weeks it took to build a 145-foot bridge to a former helicopter hangar, create 13 auto-handling and performance tracks and raise five demonstration theaters capable of brainwashing 600 people a day for a month.

An LS billboard on a barge was towed across the bay. A blimp bearing LS advertising droned overhead. They created a six-mile backup on the Bay Bridge before law enforcers ordered both promotions out of the area. Historic, Art Deco, fully preserved Treasure Island hasn’t seen this much Barnum & Bailey hoo-ha since Pan-American’s Clippers flew out, the 1939 World’s Fair moved in and the cast and crew of “Nash Bridges” brought contemporary Hollywood glamour to the island.

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Lincoln Mercury should have saved its millions.

Under all this bushwa--needing no commercial camouflage, Detroit hucksters or Honest John flimflam--there was a very real automobile. The LS is a smaller, more youthful car that will scatter the must off Lincoln’s grandly parental image. It is a stiffer, more assertive performance sedan with dynamics to challenge the best of Asia and cause the Europeans to look twice.

It might not have quite the solid heft, all the jeweled finish or every grace and social polish of BMW’s 5-Series or Audi’s A6. But it is a hard-cruising, smooth-riding, luxury-stuffed American V-8 sedan with none of the wallow and float so common to the species. By such qualities, it will surprise no one that the LS is American first cousin to the new and elegant Jaguar S-Type, thanks to heavy sharing of engine, powertrain and chassis parts.

And at a starting price of $35,225, the LS costs $5,000 to $15,000 less than eight-cylinder sedans from Audi, BMW, Infiniti, Jaguar, Lexus, Mercedes and even Cadillac.

The LS, which will be in showrooms later this month, is also available as a V-6 version with a five-speed manual transmission that costs $31,450. With a sport package, this lesser LS campaigns more like an Acura TL and allowed us to inflict much humiliation upon haughtier V-8s during some serious helmet laps at Thunderhill Park at Willows, north of Sacramento.

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With this car, Lincoln has made a huge step in the right direction for a brand whose survival hinges on a juggling act: It must increase its global appeal and overseas sales while recruiting younger bodies to its buyer demographics. At the same time, it cannot afford to reduce its percentage of grayer buyers.

Lincoln has seemingly worked wonders in keeping down costs while still packaging a luxury vehicle with pretty exciting standard equipment. Such as driver and passenger power seats, tilt and telescoping steering wheel, premium sound, anti-lock brakes with traction controls (which at Thunderhill proved to be almost instantaneous and certainly 100% effective), dual-zone air conditioning, leather seats, alarm and power windows and door locks.

But the trade-offs are noticeable. There are inexpensive sounds and too much flex when you close the trunk lid. And chromium-plated plastic for the door latches and grille is not something you like to find on a true luxury car.

Although Lincoln engineers note that the LS shares 42% of its major mechanicals with Jaguar’s S-Type, including the 210-horsepower V-6 and 252-horsepower V-8 engines, something has definitely been lost in the cloning. Particularly when the four-speed automatic meets a heavy loafer demanding hard and heavy gear changes in a hurry.

Styling works for us, although it is a little on the sober side and probably not as international as it could be. It’s certainly not as clownish as that of the Lincoln Navigator SUV, a surprising success that has been able to tug Lincoln’s foot from the grave.

Lincoln calls the LS look classic and timeless. We call it kissing up to the old guard, who, understandably, are passionately opposed to drastic change. The interior is spacious, nicely faux-wooded and genuinely leathered but equally predictable.

In its mechanicals, silhouette, accessories and appointments, the LS offers nothing new or terribly innovative. The drama lies in the fact that this personal, smaller, lighter and brighter car is actually a Lincoln that will not make younger people feel they have borrowed Auntie’s auto.

We played a game with the LS: What would it feel like you were driving if you didn’t know what you were driving?

In a word: Lexus.

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Times automotive writer Paul Dean can be reached at paul.dean@latimes.com.