Affordability aside, nothing much. The Kia's sheetmetal serves as an instant, constant reminder that the good times are not about to roll. For starters, the front fascia appears to be a mismatch of cheap plastics and leftover pre-bankruptcy surplus (check out those diminutive fog lights on the top-of-the-line SX). The orgy of automotive penury continues with side door protectors that look like they came from the wrong side of the 1980's. The Hyundai Accent has these removed– with the mere imprint remaining. But that's like saying the Rio isn't the only sister in the family that grows a moustache.
At the back, the Rio's rear lights came straight from a Chrysler junkyard; the lower end retains the cohesiveness of overexposed cheap plastic. Overall, only the equally dire, equally South Korean Chevrolet Aveo can compare with the Rio's ultra-cheap, I mean "affordable" exterior appearance.
The Rio's interior surprised me, even in base trim. Yes, the radio controls look and feel like rubber dog toys (don't get me started) and the carpet's thinner than my imaginary hairline. But the seats are comfortable, the ergonomics faultless, and the steering wheel feels solid in your hands. In truth, only one element of the Rio's cabin will repel frugal folks before they turn the key: a sour, noxious smell. The olfactory assault may fade over time, but it sends a subconscious signal that you have abandoned all hope of a fly ride.
You don't drive a Kia Rio. You ride in it. Well, on the highway. Anywhere else, you fight with it. There's no handling as such, just a constant struggle against lateral forces and 14" of limited adhesion as you wrestle with the lack of power steering (available on the LX and SX models). Unless you think it's OK for a guy to dance by himself at the High School prom, piloting this machine is a particularly joyless affair. Did I mention the 110hp engine (@ 6000rpm) or understeer? Why would I?
Another non-surprise: the Rio with a manual transmission is a pain to drive, with a box that puts the "arggg" in agricultural. Needless to say, the optional four-speed autobox is geared for maximum mileage (i.e. minimal acceleration). Unfortunately (for Kia), moving up to the automatic lifts the price firmly into Versa / Yaris territory– where the Rio simply can't compete.
The good news: the base Kia rides smoothly down the highway with controlled body motions, and remains quiet, in an "Applebee's isn't as noisy as a TGIF's" way. That's a good fit for most of the general public that seeks to drive no more than 2/10's to 3/10's of a vehicle's capability– and wants an upper body workout. Oh, the suspension bottoms-out on moderate bumps at highway speeds. Sorry.
The word "base" has new meaning here. No power steering. No ABS or rear disc brakes, poor IIHS side-impact safety rating and, just as dangerous for southerners, no air conditioning. You can't even order a chiller in the base model. You can get AC for $700 more in an entry-level, if equally unexciting, Toyota Yaris hatchback along with… power steering! Or, you can get a variety of near-new low-mileage vehicles ranging from the unloved but far more competent Chevy Cobalt, to the quite loved and still fairly unknown Suzuki SX4.
All of which means that if the Kia Rio loves good times as much as you do, you don't love good times. At all. The Rio has nothing whatsoever to offer the enthusiast and even less to offer the frugalist. OK, the warranty is long and extensive. But then most cars today will last 200k miles.
It's a shame that the most economically-vulnerable members of society will be seduced by the Rio's low sticker. If they checked eBay's completed items section they'd see that an ultra-low mileage four-year-old Rio has trouble breaking the $4k barrier. That's $2k worth of depreciation per year. On the flip side, you can buy a certified three-year-old Corolla or Civic for nearly the same price as a new Kia Rio and get lower depreciation, better fuel economy and far better overall quality. Game, set and match.
The Matrix' one-box (one-trapezoid?) design creates a minivan-in-a-trash-compacter interior vibe (so to speak). The steep windshield and short hood enable acceptable forward vision. But the Toyota's sharply-falling roof and gun-slit windows are insupportable, they put the words "oh shit!" into "blind spot." The Matrix boasts slightly more cargo capacity than the Impreza, but the Yaris provides more hip room. 
The AWD Matrix comes in one drivetrain flavor: a 2.4-liter inline four-cylinder engine with a four-speed automatic transmission. Pop it in "D," arrange a sour expression on your face, mash the gas and the 158hp mill will hustle the portly (3360 lbs) Matrix about with joyless adequacy. The quadra-geared slushbox helps keep fun at bay, but doesn't display the manic thrash that Berkowitz experienced with Toyota's five-speed unit (available on non-AWD Matrices).
No question: the Impreza's mainstream makeover has dumbed-down the car's handling. With added weight and softer springs, the Scooby tends to lean and hunt for its line, when it should be darting and planting. The payoff: serenity at speed. What the Impreza surrenders in autocrossmanship it makes up for on long trips to the cabin or trailhead.
With neither the Matrix nor the Impreza claiming a decisive EPA ratings victory (at 20/26 and 20/27 respectively), the Impreza's price point is the game-winner here. And if driving pleasure is even remotely important, the Matrix fails miserably, while the Impreza scores impressively.
All Express vans have dents in the passenger rear side doors. We finally solved the riddle when we realized that GM forgot to put a detent stop on the door, letting it swing open fully into the front passenger door, leaving a series of scars on both.
The Express' driver's seat slides forward and aft. And that's it for any pretense of driver comfort from GM. No tilt or telescopic wheel adjustments, no electric side mirror or seat recliners. At least our 1LT optioned van had armrests– swathed in cloth so rough my elbow left enough skin for a burn victim. The air conditioner coughed cool air at us and the AM/FM radio crackled out the signal from an eight bazillion watt stations.
At least the Express seats 15 people. Luggage? Not so much. The idea of driving an Express with MORE weight on top or towing a trailer does not fill me with confidence (as in scares me to death). In our tester, the Express' spare stood upright IN THE MIDDLE of the cargo area. Did I want to know what chain of events led to this situation? Uh… 
Truth be told, the ABS-equipped Express van very nearly killed me. When a Dodge Neon pulled out in front of me (oh the ignominy), the Express' ABS failed to even-out the braking force. The Express yawed to one side, and then the other, as the computer "compensated" noisily. The "moment" destroyed any feeling of safety for myself and my passengers, confirmed by screams from people who routinely face death by terrorist attack.
Note to GM: fire the engineers responsible for the Chevrolet Express 3500 15-Pax van and remove it from sale. Anything less is an insult to the intelligence– and ongoing health– of the people who pay your salary.
The same, more massive aesthetic has been applied to the Pilot's interior. The center stack, the center console, and the door panels all have the chunky forms typical of a conventional full-size SUV.
Like a conventional SUV, the Pilot's windshield is downright upright. The instrument panel isn't minivanishly deep and visibility is excellent. Although the Pilot's front seats are larger and cushier than those found in smaller Hondas, there's less lateral support than Hillary Clinton affords Barak Obama. Also on the downside, the Pilot's shifter has moved to the left side of the center stack. It's an improvement over the old column shifter, but the cog swapper's positioning isn't ideal for anyone who likes to drive.
Humans up to six feet tall can now fit into the Pilot's third row, with little room to spare. The wayback seats are positioned above the first two rows, providing occupants with a pleasantly unobstructed view forward. But the chairs are still too close to the floor to provide adults with enough thigh support to prevent Restless Leg Syndrome.
The Pilot's automatic five-speed gearbox remains. (Most competitors have a sixth ratio, which enables a shorter first gear for stronger acceleration off the line.) The Pilot's steering feels a bit firmer than before. Thanks to improved suspension tuning, the Pilot no longer leans like a boat through the turns. But the not-so-cute-ute is about as much of a sporting machine as the [only slightly less expensive] Panasonic EP3005 massage chair.
The new Pilot doesn't change the game the way the original did. There's not a single area in which it excels, in a field crowded with excellent products. Of course, the same could be said of the old Pilot, of which Honda sold quite a few. Much like the previous model, the new Pilot is a vehicle for those who will only consider a Toyota or Honda, and want something roomier than the Highlander. Honda bunted. The Pilot's a base hit.
Our tester's interior was overwhelmingly beige. Only a black center stack– with a stereo face from 1986– relieved the Saharan color scheme. Sisters VW Touareg and Audi Q7 both have the Cayenne licked in terms of switchgear, material choices and general cabin appeal. That Porsche can still offer a vehicle at this price point without Bluetooth or iPod connectivity is testimony to the brand's snob appeal, rather than Porsche's ability to compete head-on with its upmarket peers.
On the road, the base Cayenne proved stable and agile, just like the much cheaper VW Touareg. The Porsche's 3.6-liter direct injection 290bhp V6 motivated the 4949 lbs. truck adequately; the zero to 60 sprint takes only 7.5 seconds. Porsche tuned the exhaust to mimic their flat sixes, but they only receive a participation ribbon in that regard. 
The Cayenne's delayed throttle response made power modulation on bumps and sand a doddle; I could feed the six the perfect amount of gas at the perfect pace. Porsche Traction Management and the Cayenne's steel spring multi-link suspension made short work of washboard surfaces, deep sand, scree and dead jackrabbits. Flying down dirt roads, the Cayenne's six-speed transmission was always in the right gear. I was no longer a prat with a Bluetooth earpiece; I was Stig Blomqvist in the Dakar.
Mission accomplished. Point taken. The Porsche Cayenne, even in its simplest form, embodies all the passion and engineering skill of a 911. But it's a fervor rooted in the deserts, plains and mountains of Africa, not the middle of the Nürburgring. The Cayenne's fast and fun on dirt roads, and poised and capable scrambling over river washes and steep climbs. It's a damn shame the vast majority of Cayenne owners will never discover this vehicle's true essence. Because otherwise, cash cow or not, the Cayenne makes no sense.
Once you get the people in the dealership door, what's it like inside? Inside the door of the Ford dealership, it's dusty. Inside the Flex, we find Ford's finest-ever interior, at least on this side of the Atlantic. The Flex's fit and finish, the interior detailing and the materials involved are all top shelf. If I was a Ford dealer, I'd be worried about having a Flex on the floor next to everything else.
The Flex's third row is… functional. Functional in the sense that the way back is inside the car, that it is, in fact, the third row, and a few smaller human beings of smaller stature would be happy in situ, though only two at a time (or three, if the people are Jessica Biel, Kate Beckinsdale and me).
The Flex's driving experience– previously embargoed in the name of "Save the Buff Books"– is perfectly fine. The CUV packs a 262 horsepower 3.5-liter V6 hooked up to a six-speed automatic and optional all wheel drive. None of the these three factoids is particularly relevant. This is a car for people who don't care about driving. By the same token, insulation isolation is the Flex's trump card. The Flex has a Tempurpedic-quality ride and enough laminated glass to crate a recording studio. In fact, you could hear a pin drop at 75 miles per hour– although what you're doing fooling around with a sharp object at that speed is anybody's guess. 
Still, the Ford Flex is a lovable machine. It's the first completely, bumper-to-bumper "finished" car Ford has made in many, many years. And it's one of the most– if not THE most– pleasant machine in which to passenger– at least in the first two rows. With the SUV exodus in full swing, Ford will have to hope that style trumps fuel economy. Chances are iffy. 
Alfa marketed the Graduate for the (true) enthusiast. In other words, they stripped the Spider's interior like it had set off the airport security metal detectors. Gone were the power windows, leather seat upholstery, air conditioning, radio and cloth top. In their place: hand cranks, delete plates, and more vinyl than your average half hour on the SciFi Channel. In fact, apart from the decidedly-non-standard Alpine radio unit, the Spider's interior had four buttons: a hazard light switch, a fan switch for the heater, a rear window defroster switch (that served no identifiable purpose) and a horn.
Unlike the Gregorian crescendo of most modern engines, the Alfa's four roars like a wounded beast, with just enough thrash to let you know its mechanical heart is beating with the explosive deaths of millions of hydrocarbons.
Che te lo dico a fare? Everyone knows the Alfa Spider was a toy that broke even (especially?) if you never drove it. In these days of J.D. Power outages, if and when the Alfa brand returns, style will not be enough. Must. Do. Better. Let's hope the Alfa's body is strong and the spirit is even more willing.
