Ferraris and the Conservative Impulse

If there is hope for Western Civilization to survive in the age of mass media, it is to be found somewhere near the obscure village of Dunsfold, Surrey in the Southeast of England, behind the wheel of a Ferrari, power-sliding across a disused airfield, yelling, “Poweeerrrr!”

Fans of BBC’s Top Gear (of which there are tens of millions, more than any other fact-based program, in 212 countries) will instantly recognize this scene, and its hero, Jeremy Clarkson. Along with two co-presenters, Richard Hammond and James May, he has for more than ten years been reviewing cars and saying slightly offensive and highly amusing things for the world’s viewing pleasure.

Why, then, would I place hope for the Western tradition in the hands of these three downshifting humorists? Well, to begin, I just really wanted to write about my favorite show (really, the only show I watch) in such a manner as to at least partially justify the fact that I have seen every episode more than once.

But Top Gear is not just a good, wry, British laugh; and neither is it simply a forum for consumer advice––especially considering the small percentage of its viewership that could ever afford 90% of the cars they test.

The show is something more than this, as anyone who has seen more than a few episodes will understand. When reviewing a new car, whether it be a humble Toyota hatchback or the $400,000 convertible Rolls-Royce Phantom Drophead, the show’s presenters never content themselves with simple facts and figures. Instead, they employ three faculties rare as diamonds in today’s media market.

The first is rhetorical facility, or the ability to communicate ideas effectively. The presenters exhibit not only a trademark English wit, but what was once a trademark English education. This is perhaps why the American version of the show fails to live up to its British progenitor: its presenters simply lack the subtle, English verbal virtuosity of their counterparts.

And I emphasize ideas because they also are so rare in television programs of any sort. And this contributes to the second faculty, a layered, textured sense of aesthetics. This is employed not only in their verbal car-criticism, but in the show’s gorgeous and award-winning cinematography and editing.

The third faculty, however, is the most unexpected: historical awareness and appreciation. One gets the sense that these three men really possess an enthusiastic understanding of the history both of automobiles and of Britain. And, just as the critics I admire at The Imaginative Conservative lament the decline of arts and literature in America, they lament the decline of their own nation in producing fine, automotive art.

At the risk of Russell Kirk turning over in his grave, I say that what Top Gear provides, albeit imperfectly and in its own eccentric manner, is the moral imagination in terms of downforce and horsepower.