All language subtitles for James.Mays.Cars.Of.The.People.S01E02.HDTV.x264-C4TV.ENG

By the second half
of the 20th century

the word "consumption" already
had positive connotations.

It denoted economic growth,
choice, happiness even.

But it was also still also
the name of a wasting disease,

one in which the sufferer
grows smaller and weaker

and eventually fades away.

In the '50s, '60s
and even the early '70s,

both definitions could be applied
to the Cars of the People.

This week, how the people's car
lost a wheel and lost its way,

comedic French cars that
go like a bomb...

..and how noodles saved the world.

Nothing can stop noodles!

MUSIC: "Go Johnny Go"
by Chuck Berry

America, the 1950s. Happy Days.

The nation is rich,

there's excess manufacturing
capacity after the war,

fuel is cheap,
materials are plentiful,

space is seemingly limitless.

What does this mean for the car?
Well, something like this -

a wheeled automotive palace

celebrating the jet age
with bosses and fins.

American cars of the 1950s
oozed wealth and glamour,

and this rubbed off on the driver.

Who's the best pilot you ever saw?

At the top of the pile - Cadillac.

This 18-foot, 2.2-ton

Eldorado Biarritz
seems a bit unnecessary.

But, despite its 5.6 litre engine,

and enough heavy metal
to headline Donington,

this overblown jukebox on wheels had
its fair share of supersized rivals.

American excess?

That'll do nicely.

Now, I'm only guessing because
I wasn't there, obviously,

but I reckon that life
in 1950s California,

where this car came from,

was probably better than
life in 1950s Birmingham.

But it's just a hunch.

♪ I feel unhappy... ♪

Birmingham then, as now,
was utterly depressing.

But it wasn't alone
in its abject misery.

Unlike America, everybody
in post-war Europe was broke.

With rationing still in force,

people did what they could
to get by.

MAN: A colander, for example,
needs a little embellishment

but a dash of colour works wonders -

even if it does leak
in rainy weather.

For smart vegetarians, a salad bowl,
with servers, too, you'll notice.

It wasn't just hats.

Elegant, a funnel hat.

It really wasn't.
The motorist longed for

the bejewelled decadence
that the Americans had.

But what they got was a bunch
of midgets with funny accents.

COMICAL HORN TOOTS

Welcome to the exciting and
occasionally baffling world

of the European microcar.

The idea was really very simple.

They were cars but they were
smaller and simpler,

so they use less materials,
they were easier to make,

they have simple engines, usually
single cylinder, often two stroke,

they were cheaper to buy,
they were usually easier to run.

The microcar promised
to revolutionize motoring

for the masses. They didn't just
aim to solve post-war hardship

but also congestion in the
crowded European cities and towns.

And because they were
pretty basic to make,

all sorts of people had a go.

This is a FMR Tg500.

Better known as
the Messerschmitt Tiger.

Now, let me say straightaway it's
a complete myth that Messerschmitt

built these using leftover canopies
from World War II aircraft.

But you can see where
they got the idea from.

It looks like a 110 Zerstorer
fighter bomber

with the wings and
the tail chopped off.

Doesn't have a steering wheel,
as such. It has a yoke,

again a bit like, let me think...
Yes, an aeroplane.

The Messerschmitt came with a 500cc
two-stroke twin cylinder engine,

four gears, and a spare seat
for your rear gunner.

It was also small and very cheap.

It's very ingenious, though,
because it is, of course, German.

German aeroplane designers

weren't allowed to make
aeroplanes after the war,

so they applied their considerable
talents to this sort of thing.

In fact, if you get the sun in
the right position you can bank

some lesser European microcars
and shoot them down

before they even know you're there.

Yes, the Tiger is a rich source

of cheap and predictable
Battle of Britain gags.

But, compared to some other
first-time designers,

at least Messerschmitt knew
if they were coming or going.

This, for example,
is the Zundapp Janus,

named after the Roman god who could
look in both directions

at the same time.

I presume they called it that
because it's almost completely

symmetrical front to rear,
apart from the lights.

And the big surprise for you is -

I'm not driving.

I am.

MUSIC: "Back To Front"
By The Kinks

# East is west,
left is right

♪ Up is down and black is white... ♪

Zundapp was a motorcycle maker

and, not surprisingly, the Janus is
powered by a 250cc bike engine.

It's mounted exactly in the middle.
Where else could it go?

Do you know, this never caught on.
I wonder why not?

Maybe because it's confusing.

Maybe that's why I left
the indicator on all day.

Advantages of a symmetrical car?

Well, the doors and the glass
are the same at both ends.

And the seats are the same as well.
That makes it cheaper to build.

Disadvantages -
it sort of interferes

with your passenger's minds a bit.

♪ All the small things... ♪

While the experimental Zundapp

might have caused its occupants
temporary insanity,

other models like BMW's iconic
Isetta became the byword

for reliable, low cost
family motoring.

But, despite their wildly differing
designs, all the early microcars

offered the cash-strapped
European worker

something that
a normal car couldn't -

you could drive these four wheel
marvels on a motorcycle licence.

Well, you could...

unless you were British.

Here's one from a very prolific
British maker - Bond.

Bond and this British Messerschmitt
and this British Isetta

have one important difference.
They only have three wheels.

Because a piece of legislation said
you could drive one of these if it

was below a certain weight and you
only had a motorcycle licence,

so long as it only had three wheels.

This is very, very complicated
and nobody on this programme

really understands it properly
but we are fairly confident

that this bit of government
interference...

spoiled everything.

The three wheel legislation aimed
to draw a line between proper

middle class motorists, and
working class oiks and bikers

who wouldn't or couldn't obtain
a full driving licence.

But all it actually achieved was to
wreck the British microcar's chances

right from the start.

Many affordable three wheeled models
were available over the years,

but sales were poor
for two main reasons -

they made you look like a berk,
and this tended to happen...

Reliants uniformly gormless range

symbolized all that was wrong
with the British three wheeler.

It was mocked to the point of ennui,

and in 2005 was voted the
Worst British Car in History.

Across the Channel in
la belle France, however,

things were a lot
more laissez faire.

You could have four wheels if you
wanted - no-one really cared.

And it didn't matter
what sort of licence you had.

Boff! You didn't need
a licence at all.

There was but one small catch

and it came in the shape
of a chewed block of Duplo.

This is a KV1.

It's a so-called
voiture sans permis,

a car without permit.

It's awful.

Honestly.

I'm not camping it up or anything.
This is truly diabolical.

This represents the most
ruthless attempt yet

to pare back both the car
and the ownership burden.

This isn't a particularly
rough road, honestly.

Voitures sans permis, or VSPs,

were a truly egalitarian
attempt at a people's cars.

Small, simple and very "merde,"

they would mobilise the very
fringes of French society.

There were some rules
governing the car.

It had to be below a certain weight.

It was only allowed to have two
seats and, for some reason, no boot.

That was pretty much it.

For your part you, just bought it
and drove away.

Even if you couldn't drive.

Pre-1988, French urchins
as young as 14

were allowed to drive these things.

Again, no test, nothing.

You just got one, nicked one -
there are no keys or anything -

and you had a car.

I use the term "car" quite
generously, obviously.

You'd think that the manufacturers
of this abomination on wheels

wouldn't have been able
to give it away.

But you'd be wrong.

When this car went on sale
in 1978, it cost around £700.

Now, I was around in 1978

and I seem to remember that
£700 was a huge amount of money.

But it's not just the build quality,
price, performance,

or the sheer insanity of the thing
that lets the KV1 down.

It is, quite honestly, pantaloon-
fillingly-terrifying to drive.

- Oh, - BLEEP, - I've pulled out!
Oh, Christ!

What a merciful man.
Merci, monsieur.

Oh, my God!

Oh, God I'm joining like a proper...

LORRY HORN HONKS

There's a gigantic lorry
behind me. It's massive.

I'm going left, I'm going left.

I don't know, call me
a wimp if you like

but I didn't really like
having that behind me.

In order to show just how
lethal these microcars are,

we must put one in the hands
of a typical VSP driver.

Blondine, who is perfectly sane
and absolutely normal in every way,

but she's only 15 and
therefore has never driven a car,

no car, not even a VSP. However,
had she been 15 in the early '70s

she could just climb in
and drive away.

We'll be marking Blondine down
for each imaginary French pedestrian

- she kills in this old Axiam.
- Trois, deux, un. Partez!

Brake, brake, brake!

'There goes the first one as
Blondine reverses into an imaginary

'blameless baguette seller,
orphaning a French family of 16.'

Terrifying.

'Remember, in the '70s
this could be you in the

'passenger seat next to somebody who
doesn't know where the brake is.'

Touch the brake...

'That's a whole troupe of imaginary
mime artists silenced for ever.'

Keep going, keep going, keep going.

'Small dog.'

Good recovery.

'Blondine's safari continues
by ploughing through

'a sizeable pavement cafe.'

Stop. Stop, stop.

Reverse, reverse.

'It's a massive overshoot as the
Axiam enters the local bibliotheque

'through the window.'

You have to go...parallel.

'And one more point for murdering
the idea of parallel parking.'

Tres bon.

'The final score
is ten confirmed kills

'in just under a third of a mile.'

And if you think that's over
the top, consider this -

it wasn't just
underage French people,

but drivers banned for
being dangerous or drunk

who could all legally get
behind the wheel of a VSP.

At the height of
the unlicensed VSP disaster,

there were around 50 deaths
on French roads every single day.

VSPs are horrible. I don't want
anything else to do with them.

I'm sure you're bored
of watching them as well.

I'll tell you what, why don't
we go back to that road

at the beginning of this French
sequence and I'll come over the hill

in something a bit more interesting.

And better.

MUSIC: "La Marseillaise"

Yeah, all right, it's a cliche,

but, like all cliches,
it's a cliche because it's good.

This is just tremendous, this thing.

While the VSP took everything bad
about motoring and made it worse,

the Citroen 2CV can claim to be

one of France's greatest
ever achievements.

What could be more French than this?

I mean, it's utterly ridiculous,
and yet it's charming,

and strangely adorable.

Right, first of all, let's clear up
something you're all a bit

too embarrassed to ask.
Why is it called the 2CV?

Well, it actually means
"deux cheveaux vapeur,"

which is "two steam horses."

It's the nominal output of
the original 375cc engine,

measured in the way that
you would measure the output

of a steam engine.
Anyway, don't worry,

this is a later 425CC car

and this develops
a heady nine horse power.

For most of us in Britain, the 2CV
is bound up with tie and dye

in that '70s and early '80s period.
You know, when people where

starting to experiment with brown
foodstuffs and barn conversions.

That sort of thing. In actual fact,
the 2CV is a pre-war design.

It comes from that era
when any nation worth its salt

was head-butting the complex idea
of a car for the masses.

In 1938, Citroen unveiled
the 2CV's earliest prototype.

Codenamed the TPV,
or the tres petite voiture,

the car came with Citroen's
revolutionary soft suspension

that put the fun into road rage.

So far so good.

But in 1940, just as production
began, Hitler swept into France.

The Citroen factory appeared to
carry on as normal, but in secret

all traces of the little car
were hidden from the invader.

And post-war, enough 2CVs were
recovered from their hidey holes

to launch the car at
the 1948 Paris Motor Show.

And, so, the 2CV began its long
and enduring love affair

with the French people.
And to this day,

like Japanese soldiers
still fighting World War II,

prototypes are still being found,

hiding from the enemy
in barns all over France.

So, the 2CV is a contemporary
of the Beetle

and they share a similar philosophy.

They're both full size four-seater
cars. They're both very simply made

so they're easy to maintain.
You could take that apart with

a handful of tools.

The engine is air-cooled but
now it only has two cylinders,

and it's mounted at the front,
and it drives the front wheels.

Apparently, it can be
driven at full revs

all day long without exploding.

Where they differ, though, is in
the vision of their creators.

The German car was
for high speed efficiency

on revolutionary autobahn.

The French car was designed to be
driven across a ploughed field

by peasants carrying a basket of
eggs, and without breaking any.

Eggs or peasants.

If ever a car suited its people,
it was the 2CV.

It cost less than half the price
of a VW Beetle,

yet was infinitely more practical.

Actually, the 2CV is a handy
denoter of Frenchness.

If you're making a film, a TV
series, illustrating a comic strip,

you simply plop a 2CV in
and that says,

"This person, this scene,
is very French."

It's utterly unequivocal,

like a Breton shirt or a sting
of onions hanging from a bicycle.

Or a beret.

You'd think that thanks
to its brave war record,

and its strong national identity,

the 2CV would easily be France's
most celebrated people's car.

However, the French know that
this is all complete nonsense.

Their real automotive hero, the one
that Delacroix would have painted

standing atop a pile of
vanquished bodies,

waving the tricolor, is in here.

And that, if you didn't know,
is a Renault 4.

The Renault 4 is the most
successful French car of all time.

It may be the most successful
French thing of all time

after the croque-monsieur.

Which is really just
a cheese and ham toastie,

and they stole that from us.
At Agincourt.

While the 2CV acted as a sort of
missionary, spreading the gospel

of French chicness and eccentricity
around the globe,

the Renault 4 soldiered on
with the more onerous task

of being France's true people's car.

Under four million 2CVs were built

but over nine and a half million
Renault 4s, and not just in France.

It was built in other parts of the
world. It sold in 125 countries.

Its mission was quite simply
to make the motoring world French.

Those impressive figures may be
partly down to an innovation

that puts the Renault 4
firmly above the 2CV.

It's a masterstroke that changed
car designs for ever.

Renault's ideas for a voiture
des peuples, or people's car,

were formulated in the late 1940s

and originally they thought
it would be an enlarged,

more powerful version
of their 4CV saloon -

no relationship to
the Citroen whatsoever.

But that would have
made it rear engine,

so they scrapped that and
put the engine in the front -

which makes this the first ever
front-wheel drive Renault.

And then they realised, because
there was no engine in the back,

they could make the
rear seats fold down.

And then...

..they invented le hatchback.

Now we can have produits
dans la voiture very easily.

That and so much more besides.

But it wasn't all boring
baguettes in the boot.

Unlike the homely 2CV,
the Renault 4 was marketed

as a macho four-wheeled
version of Ross Kemp,

ready for slightly camp adventure

in exotic locations
all across the world.

And this gung ho attitude
was backed up under the bonnet.

The engine 747cc

and four cylinders,
and liquid cooled.

That's bigger than
any 2CV engine ever was.

And you can tell.

ENGINE ROARS

That's second of the three gears.

Look at that, I'm doing 40.

It may be basic, it might have a
baffling gear change, it's slow,

but the Renault 4 allows us to roll
about in more lovely cliches.

It's got Gallic charm in spades.

Drive one for long enough

and you'll occasionally
lapse into Frenchness.

Bonjour, mademoiselle.

Crikey, what a ripping girl.

So that would appear to
be a cut and dried victory

for the Renault 4
over its rival.

But Citroen wasn't about
to give up without a fight.

The Renault 4 and the 2CV were

mechanically simple,
very robust cars.

So they were infinitely adaptable.
Yes, they were the standard cars

but then there were pick-up
versions, covered pick-up versions,

small camper vans, bakers' vans.

They were used by the fire service,

they were used by the police.

They even made, in the case
of the Renault 4,

a sort of beach version.
Infinite variety.

But this sort of
thing can go too far.

And it did.

In a vain quest to sort it out
once and for all,

Renault and Citroen both
produced military versions.

And while the Renault 4 Sinpar
served with the

French military in Africa,

the 2CV pick-up found itself
with the British Royal Marines

in the Far East
as a helicopter-bourne

light assault vehicle.

What on Earth were
the French thinking of?

Cardboard cars with
comedy gear changes

as assault vehicles?

Sacre bleu!

But let's give them
the benefit of the doubt,

with a wholly gratuitous and
typically scientific Top Gear test.

Now, these two examples,
the 2CV and the Renault 4,

have been converted
to military use

in much the same way
the originals would have been.

They have been painted dark green.

But which was best
on the field of battle?

Let's find out.

We've set our quarry up
in this French quarry.

Our two sturdy light grade
passenger vehicles will advance

very slowly along the ground to
simulate the terror of the soldiers

who were forced to drive them.

Meanwhile, up in our bunker,
we have the sort of weaponry these

cars would have faced during
their post-colonial adventures.

This is a good old
British rifle, the Lee-Enfield,

and this is what it fires,
the .303 British cartridge.

These were used in pretty much
everything, really -

Lee-Metford and Lee-Enfield
rifles, Bren guns,

Browning machine guns
in Spitfires and Hurricanes,

and the gun turrets of Lancaster
bombers, and so on, and so on.

Thousands of millions of these have
been made and fired at everything

from paper targets and beer bottles,
to big game and foreigners.

We're not sure, though, that any
have ever been fired at French cars,

so let's give it a go.

All clear!

2CV.

Window.

Window.

Empty.

So far, it's a typically
French military performance.

Neither car seems to be
putting up much of a fight

against the .303 round.

But both cars are still drivable,
so let's take this up a notch.

Can I do some more shooting?

♪ This town ain't big enough
for the both of us. ♪

I don't think that was
quite scientific enough,

so let's move on to a more
contemporary weapon - the AK-47.

This is the very cheap
Chinese-made one.

Now, I'm not allowed to use this,

because it's a Section 5 firearm.
It's fully automatic.

So it will be fired today
by my glamorous assistant, Joss.

- Sir. - Thank you.

# Heartbeat, increasing heartbeat

# You are a khaki-coloured bombardier

# It's Hiroshima that you're nearing

♪ This town ain't big
enough for both of us... ♪

GUNSHOTS, GLASS BREAKS

GUNSHOTS

In normal life, Joss does
crosswords and likes small animals.

Our two French vehicles
are certainly starting

to look more Swiss.

But I can't in good scientific
conscience say that either of them

is out for the count just yet.

Time to bring in the big gun.

Now, I would normally baulk at
an act of unbridled vandalism

to cars, such as you
are about to witness,

but let's be honest -

in this instance,
they were literally asking for it.

Ready, sir.

As another great
military strategist said,

"Now I have a machine gun.

"Ho-ho-ho."

OK, here we go.

LIVELY GUNFIRE

MUSIC: "Symphony No. 9 in D minor"
by Ludwig van Beethoven

SILENCE

Quite a lot of stuff hit me
in the face then.

And, so, the great
Renault 4 2CV rivalry shoot out

reaches its conclusion.

Our imaginary infantrymen,
those unhappy few,

those band of buggered
who drove the 2CV or Renault 4

into the heart of occupied territory

have been comprehensively...

Oh, sod it.
Let's have a tie-break.

We may be finally be seeing

the Renault 4's
defence capabilities.

Or we may be rotten shots.

One of them missed the camera
by about a quarter of an inch.

'Actually, no, it didn't.'

BLEEP.

'But just when we thought
we'd got this all wrong

'and the Renault did come
with force fields...'

MUSIC: "No Regrets"
by Edith Piaf

He may not make it back to base.

The vehicle has been defeated.

And, as the smoke cleared, we were
left with an impossible decision.

We could only come to one
reasonable conclusion.

Both cars were utterly, ludicrously
inept as military service vehicles.

But then the 2CV caught fire
so we gave it to the Renault.

So, what have we learned?

You can go to market in them,
you can go out for a picnic in them,

you can go the shops in them,

and you can go on
a romantic date in them,

but don't, for God's sake, go to war
in the Citroen 2CV or the Renault 4

because they're rubbish.

I hope that was useful.

OK, they're not military vehicles

but let's not
hold that against them.

These are truly iconic cars

that are deeply engrained
in our motoring consciousness

and I can demonstrate that to you,
because if you go outside -

I don't know what sort of mid-sized
mainstream car you may have -

but if you just took one bit off it
you wouldn't be able to identify it

from that, and yet if I hold up
this rear wing

from one of our blown up cars

and you ignore the bullet holes and
the fact it already says 2CV on it,

you would still identify that
as the rear wing of a car that once

took a lovesick young poet
to the Rive Gauche,

or a pastis-soaked protester
to a fishing port in Calais.

That's how iconic they are.

And now for something British,

and so pathetic,

it's not even worthy of target
practice.

Faced with the growing evidence
that microcars were not much good

at dealing with congestion,

the British looked for inspiration

to a place which had no
congestion at all...

..outer space.

This is a Peel Trident.

The original was made
on the Isle of Man for just a year,

1965 to 1966.

But this one is a faithful
modern replica.

Back in the mid '60s
everyone was space mad,

which is why it looks like something
from the Jetsons.

This one, as you can hear,
has an electric motor.

The original had a 50cc
petrol engine,

a top speed of 38mph and, as usual,
not enough wheels.

Doesn't really solve anything.

OK, it might look futuristic,

but if you thought
this space cadet capsule

could ever be the way
forward for mass transport,

you'd need your head examined.

You see, the reality is,

if you want to change
the world and save it,

you actually need something
quite large.

It's not obviously a car,
it's a van,

and maybe even more than that,

because at one point Ford took
to calling it a "delivery system".

A delivery system?

Well, yes,
but I'd go further than that.

The Ford Transit was
launched in the same year

as the Lost in Space Peel Trident.

But that's where
the similarity ends.

Over six million Transits
have been produced to date.

And as no-one buys one for fun,
that tells us something.

The Transit may actually be the most
useful vehicle on our roads.

There have been
eight marks of Transit van

but only three basic platforms.

There are, however,
innumerable variations

on the Transit theme.

There's the Luton,
the drop side, the 3/4-door van,

4-door Crew Cab, the motorhome,
the Connect van,

the 2-door chassis cab, the One Way
Tipper... I could go on!

There's the Three Way Tipper,

the 14-seat minibus,
the 17-seat minibus,

the 4x4, the XXL,
the armoured van,

the riot van,
the long bonnet ice cream van...

Children have been conceived
in Transit vans,

other people have been murdered
in them, I don't doubt.

Stolen goods
have been transported,

new televisions have been delivered
to excited owners.

You cannot think of a sphere
of human activity

that can't actually be improved
by a Transit van.

You could say this noble,
heroic, big lump of metal

has done more for the common man
than any car.

But, again, I'd go even further -

in its own way, the Transit
has helped save the world.

Approaching now from the left
of your television screens

is the brand-new 2014,
Mark VIII Transit van.

Gorgeous.

The Transit van has been the best-
selling light commercial vehicle

in Europe for over 40 years.

Just sign there, please.

Cheers.

Saving the world?

Well, in a way, I think it has, yes,

because it's neatly nailed
the very problem

that all those makers of daft
microcars were worried about -

it has reduced congestion.

Cheers, thanks.

Look at me,
not driving to the supermarket.

So, that would appear to be that.

The really small car, the microcar,

is a terrible idea
that came to nothing

except a lame three-wheeled joke in
a sitcom about market traders.

Or is it?

We've rather overlooked a country
for whom making things smaller

anybody thought possible

is something of a cultural
cornerstone.

Japan.

Could they make
something of the microcar idea?

The short answer - and not very
wide or very tall either -

is hai.

Yes, Japan,

home to the Karaoke Kids,

used panty vending machines,
Russian roulette for minors,

aerobicised exercise
English lessons...

..and this, the Suzuki Wagon R.

And it has everything
you could want in a car -

air-con, electric windows
and mirrors, ABS, 4-speed automatic,

Sat Nav...
I'll stop at the cup holder

before I turn into the brochure.

The point is it's engineered
like any other modern car.

Just not quite as bigly.

This is a so-called Kei car,
short for Kei Jidosha,

which translates rather
disappointingly as "light car."

Kei Jidosha is a set of regulations

governing things like weight,
dimensions and engine capacity.

There's just 660cc
under the bonnet of that baby.

If you buy a Kei car,
you pay less purchase tax

than you would
on a regular size car.

There's also a weight tax in Japan.
That's lower for a Kei car.

Road tax, yes, that's lower, too.

And in Japanese cities there are
places where you can park a Kei car

where you're not allowed
to park a normal one.

So, what's the catch?

Well, there isn't one, really.

As long as you accept your car
looks a bit ridiculous.

There are millions of Kei cars
in Japan, especially in the cities.

Over half of all Japanese
households own one

and it's not just regular cars.

There are miniature
Kei removal trucks, delivery vans...

..and bin lorries.

Meanwhile, down at
the Tokyo Fire Department,

Pugh san, Pugh San,
Barney McGrew san,

have started using
Kei car fire engines

as part of their
rapid response fleet.

TRUMPTON THEME TUNE

It might look cute, but these are
perfectly suited

to emergencies in the narrow
Tokyo Streets.

Like a kitten stuck up
a Bonsai tree.

It's easy to see
the logic behind all this.

Japan is not a very big country.

It's also a very populous one.

More to the point,
75% of it is useless mountains,

Fuji, and what have you,

and that leaves very little room
for rice,

Sumo wrestlers,

Hello Kitty, people, and cars.

So, a few inches saved here
and there,

well, it all helps.

This lack of space is almost
certainly at the root

of Japan's expertise
in miniaturization.

They can just make
anything a bit smaller.

Radios and personal hi-fi,
obviously,

but also trees, escalators,

hotel rooms,

even food staples.

I mean, a grain of rice
is smaller than a chip.

However, saving space was not,
originally, the point of Kei cars.

It was all about, as usual,
mobilising the masses.

This is all going to sound
a bit familiar.

Post-war Japan was even
worse than Europe.

There was devastation, poverty,
no raw materials.

But the people's need for transport

was just as great as their European
counterparts.

So, in 1949, Japan's Ministry
of International Trade and Industry

came up with a sort of
people's car plan.

Not one of those
Ein Volk Ein Auto plans,

like the Germans had
with the Beetle.

More a simple set of rules.

They called for a car with an engine
of not more than 150cc,

not more than a metre wide, and
costing no more than 150,000 Yen.

The idea was this would encourage
development of new domestic models.

Japanese industry looked at this

and said, "Soddu offu!
It's not possible."

So they lobbied government for some
more reasonable rules

on engine sizes, dimensions, price,
and all the rest of it.

They made some prototypes

and in about ten years they started
making things like this.

This is the work of the Uchiyama
Manufacturing Corporation.

They made cork for bottle stoppers

and all the other things
cork is made for.

And they thought, "We'll have a go
at this car lark," and set up
an automotive division.

And this is what they came up with.
It's called the 360,

because it has a 360cc rear-mounted
V-Twin air-cooled engine.

All very people's car.

I wonder what became of the Uchiyama
Manufacturing Corporation's

automotive division.

So while we in Europe we were still
mucking about with three-wheel

back-to-frontmobiles, Japan let
the people who actually make cars

get hold of the rules
and solve the problems.

And I have to say

it is very small,
it is fairly basic,

but it is a proper car.

As somebody once said
of Richard Hammond -

"He's like a person, only smaller."

That's true of this, as well.

If you're a regular Top Gear viewer,
you might be a bit disappointed

that this programme is full of
stupid, small cars,

but, I have to say,
I'm enjoying myself immensely.

This area where I'm driving,
on the outskirts of Tokyo,

is proper old Japan.

The streetscape, the street plan,

is as it has been
for hundreds of years,

ie, not really designed for cars.

So you can see already

the benefits of having a small car
mentality are paying dividends.

I have, for example,
lost our camera car,

which is a Land Rover Discovery.

The reason I can't see
our camera car

is because it's managed to get
itself stuck

on the narrow rural lanes

and leave some of its paint on
a 1,000-year-old village fence.

Are you stuck, camera car?

I don't want to appear smug
or anything

but I could get
two of these through there.

One-nil to the
Uchiyama Manufacturing Corporation.

HE LAUGHS

What is it that made the Japanese
so good at this small car lark?

Simple necessity, perhaps?

Maybe it's because Japan

was prevented from re-arming
after the war,

so all its big brains went
into things like cars,

motorcycles, not fighter aircraft,

missile systems programmes,
and Star Wars.

Maybe it's because the Kei car rules

were reasonable, they were
the result of ongoing

intelligent dialogue between
government and industry,

rather than some arbitrary nonsense
about three wheels or four wheels,

or bike licences, or no licence
at all, and all that nonsense.

And it must be said that the benign
restrictions of the Kei car class

have been a constant spur to the
ingenuity of their designers.

They've come up with small
metal folding roofs,

tiny little turbochargers,
and all that sort of stuff,

and these cars have been a sort
of showcase for technology

that has quite frankly
staggered the West.

The Amara has automatic
windscreen wipers.

If I pour water onto
this sensor here,

they wipe automatically.
Unbelievable.

These early Kei cars

are like the Dead Sea Scrolls of
the Japanese car industry.

Early evidence of a national
enterprise

that would go on to sweep the globe

and almost destroy the old motor
industries of Britain and America.

But, for all the eventual global
dominance of Suzuki, Diahatsu,

Toyota, Mazda and the like,

the Kei cars themselves still have
a rather glaring shortcoming.

HORNS BLARE

Since I'm not doing anything,

I haven't been for the last
20 minutes,

it's a good time to consider

the fundamental flaw
of the Kei car philosophy.

Of all microcars, in fact.

Yes, they're very good for small
parking spaces,

they're very good for negotiating
those tiny side streets in Tokyo

and Kyoto, even Siena in Italy, or
a small Cotswold village in England,

but they don't actually
deal with this problem.

They don't deal with congestion

because they can't make another
lane for themselves.

Now, we all get very excited
about buying a very short car,

a smart car, a G-Wiz, but actually
length isn't the issue.

The road is infinitely long
but it's finitely wide.

To get through that, you need
something very narrow.

Narrower than
Jeremy Clarkson's mind.

It's been in production
since 1958.

It's been made in over 20 countries
around the world.

It is a product of the Rising Sun
on which the sun never sets.

It's the Honda Super Cub.

And this little bike has done more

to get the people mobile
than any car in history.

Pretty much the least motorcycle
you can get away with.

The frame is made of pressed steel
welded together,

the leg guards are
just a piece of plastic,

the engine's just 50cc
and it has only three gears,

but they're very cleverly spaced.

Two and three are for
cruising along,

one is for climbing up hills,
very steep hills, as it happens.

So, you bought a 50cc motorcycle,
but Honda gave you a mountain.

Thing is, of course,
it's brilliant because

it was the work of Sochiro Honda,

one of the greatest automotive minds
that ever lived.

Honda, unimpressed with the dirty,
unreliable bikes of the time,

wanted to make something
that catered to the Japanese market.

So the Cub had an enclosed chain,

big wheels for Japans unmade roads,

very deep mudguards and that small
but efficient motor.

But Honda's real masterstroke
was in marketing the Cub

as a clean, safe
and female friendly,

completely overturning
the reputation

that motorcycles had in America.

By contrast, the Honda Super Cub was
like a tea towel with puppies on it.

You meet the nicest people
on a Honda.

The Cub subsequently became
an unprecedented hit in the States,

in Japan, and in developing
countries all over the world.

The VW beetle - 21-point-something
million made.

The Fiat 124 and its derivatives,
we think around 20 million.

The Ford Model T -
13-point-something million.

But this is chicken feed.

The Honda Super Cub to date...

85 million and counting.

It's by far the most successful
vehicle of any kind in history.

But, for all its adaptability,

it was designed with a very
specific task in mind.

Back in the 1950s, when the Super
Cub was being developed,

the staple lunch of the Japanese
working population

was takeaway delivery noodles.

Still is for a lot of people,
of course.

And the noodles used to be delivered
by bicycle.

The rider would go one-handed,

one hand on the handlebars,
one hand to carry

the delicious lunch item.

For this reason, old man Honda
decreed that it must be possible

to ride the Cub one-handed,
because that way every single

noodle shop in Japan would
buy one for deliveries.

And that is why the Super Cub still
has a proper motorcycle gear change

that you operate
with your foot but

has no clutch on the left hand
handlebar

because the clutch is an
automatic centrifugal device.

Now, Honda made a big deal of this
at the Cub's launch.

The publicity picture showed
it standing outside a noodle shop.

It was in fact
this very noodle shop.

And that's given me
an idea for a race.

To demonstrate that this
little bike,

not the microcar, is the true
people's champion,

we're going to have a bike versus
Kei car noodle delivery race.

Starting from this historic shop,
I'll bike some steaming soba noodles

ten miles across town to the
Global Honda headquarters

in central Tokyo.

There, I shall
offer them in homage

to the current Honda Super Cub
executive, Mr Takeyama.

And my four-wheeled competition?

Mr Toshio Suzuki, Formula One driver
and Le Mans 24 Hour winner.

There's only one rule -

the noodles must still be at least
50 degrees C on delivery.

Mr Suzuki wouldn't be
seen dead in a Suzuki

so instead I have arranged for him
to drive this -

it's the Diahatsu Copen.

Now, it looks like a shoe

but it is a perfectly
miniaturized Kei sportscar.

It has a 650cc turbo-charged engine,

which will do 118mph,
and has a removable roof.

Now all that remains
is to decide who

goes in to buy the noodles first.

And we will decide that with
a game of Janken.

Jan...ken.

Honourable victory.

Finally, I'm on the move.

It might not be the quickest start,

but I can't really blame
that all on the bike.

Suzuki may be way out in front,
but now that I'm on the Super Cub,

I can exploit its nimble thinness

on the congested Tokyo roads.

Select a gear.

Victory is a good
as in the noodle pot.

I should explain I have a
temperature gauge on the handlebars

and a thermocouple in the noodles to
tell me how hot they still are.

They're 72 degrees.

They can't fall below the ideal
Japanese temperature

because that would be dishonourable.

Oh, sodding traffic lights!

Japan's full of them.

I have to say, I thought this was
going to be a doddle.

In a straight-up urban race

I was sure the Cub would win,
no problem.

Oh, God, traffic lights.

Come on!

But suburban Japan
seems to contain more red lights

than downtown Amsterdam.

Every single set of traffic lights
is red.

Mr Suzuki, on the other hand,

is scything through the lights
like a samurai.

As my noodles get ever cooler

and Mr Honda starts considering
a pizza instead,

Mr Suzuki and the Kei car
are powering on.

He's already stormed through
the level crossing at Jiyugaoka,

nearly half a mile ahead of me.

But I am starting to catch up.

Hooray! Been through a green light!

I didn't think that was possible.

Right, I think I'm through
the worst of it.

Time to give it 50cc worth of...

Trains!

Another train.

I'm now hopelessly behind.

Mr Suzuki and the Kei car
are already over halfway to Honda

and approaching downtown.

But, like the Super Cub itself,
I just carry on.

The Cub is not fast,
not by modern small bike standards,

but it keeps going.

And as I at last hit a
long straight of open road

I can finally deploy the ancient
motorcycle secret

of putting your head down
a little bit.

Up ahead, Mr Suzuki has become
so over-confident

he's started to listen to
his audio tapes

of aerobicised English lessons.

Little does he know
I'm hard on his tail.

Come on, baby.

Have I got the balls?

Yee-ha!

We're now just two miles away
from Honda HQ

and getting deep into
downtown Tokyo.

HE CHOKES

I need one of those
Japanese mask things.

But just ahead is Shubiya junction,

the busiest crossing
in the whole of Japan.

I may be here a while.

This is the famous crossroads.

Yes, it was in Lost in Translation.

As roughly 3 billion people
cross in front of me,

I notice someone driving
a distinctive red car.

Oh, cock! How did he get there?

I've just seen the Copen
go the other way

across the famous Shibuya crossing,

and my noodles are down to 55.

Mr Suzuki knows the territory.

And he is a racing driver,
let's be honest.

Trying to stick to the route I'd
memorised was getting me nowhere.

It was time to think of
the Super Cub delivery boy,

use my noodle
and head off the map.

Not down there.

Turn right here, take a short cut.

Soon I began to suspect
the two Mexicans

fighting over a broken television
is the sign for pedestrian zone.

But it's got me exactly
where I want to be.

Now I've got him!

And thanks to a kamikaze lady
with an umbrella,

I take the lead.

With just a mile to go to Honda,

Kei car and Cub are neck and neck,

but now I know that main roads
are for losers.

50cc versus 650c
and a turbo charger,

I need to find a really short cut.

This'll do.

This is why the Super Cub is
the people's choice.

Yes, I might have had
a bit of a shaky start,

but let's not forget, the Cub
that I'm riding is 50 years old,

but it can still dart through
the streets

like a metal fighting fish.

Nothing can stop noodles.

Noodles 53 - that's still hot
enough for any executive. Whoa!

Less than half a mile to go.

Victory is at hand.

Every time you ride
a Honda Super Cub

it's with the ghost of Sochiro
himself on the pillion seat.

Laughing at the success
of his creation.

I think it's time for
Little Honda, by the Hondells.

♪ It's all right,
it's all right... ♪

That's the Honda HQ, right there.

# I'm gonna wake you up early

# Cos I'm gonna take a ride with you

♪ We're goin' down to the Honda shop
I'll tell you what we're gonna do. ♪

Noodles at 51 degrees.

No sign of Suzuki.

Er...Takeyama San?

Konichiwa.

For Takeyama San.

- Hi! - Takeyama San?
- Yes. - Your noodles.

- 51 degrees. - Thank you.
- Delivered from the Super Cub.

A pleasure.

Thank you.

Pleasure. Honda Super Cub.

51 degrees.

As the Hondells said,
it's not a big motorcycle,

just a groovy little motorbike.

But it has condemned Mr Suzuki,
with his lukewarm lunch,

to shame and dishonour.

Close, but no Kei car.

So, the microcar,
whether in Japan or Europe,

never really dealt with the
challenges posed by congestion.

It was just quite easy to park.

As for the Super Cub,

well, I liked it so much I rode it
all the way back to England.

This difficult period
in the history of the people's car,

the '50s and 60s,

seems to have yielded
an unlikely pair of champions,

because neither of them is a car.

And, let's not forget,

this is exactly how the modern world
works, with vans and small bikes.

Back in the early noughties,
the buzz-word of the day was

"Go for it!"

But now we realise that
that's all complete nonsense.

Why not just have whatever
"it" is delivered?

But let's not write the '50s
and '60s off just yet.

They did, of course,

produce one of the greatest
people's cars of all time.

Some of you will have guessed
what it is.

Some of you will be screaming
at the television. "Come on!

"Where is it?"

Well, don't worry,
because it's here.

The Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow.

See you next time.