From the Archive: 2003 Mercury Marauder Could Be Ruder (2024)

From the July 2002 issue of Car and Driver.

It would be childish, unseemly, and heroically pointless to accuse Ford of a copycat crime. But, hey, childish and unseemly? That's us. So, here goes: We did it first.

In October 1997, a blizzard trapped me in Ogallala, Nebraska, with former senior editor Phil Berg. As the two of us viewed a World Series game, we hatched a scheme to build a hot-rod Crown Vic—a supercharged cop car that would eventually be known as the Lounge Lizard. That car took 13 months to build, ironically appearing in C/D the same month Ford announced its own version—November 1998.

See? We did it first.

Our Lizard was a hit. For one thing, it performed flawlessly as a 150-mph pace car in the Silver State Classic. For another, it was one of the rare project cars whose ride we didn't ruin. Still, the experience wasn't without trauma: Two SOHC V-8s died horrible deaths at the proving ground. And frankly, it's not often you hear an enthusiast exclaim, "What this world really needs is a good $53,470 Crown Vic."

Now Ford has produced its own mono­chromatic Lizard, with a far more digestible price: $34,495. Dearborn's version eschews the standard SOHC modular V-8 in favor of a naturally aspirated twin-­cammer with 9.85:1 compression. Unfortunately, the marketing guys insisted the car be based not on a Vic but on the machine most likely to be parked at Sunset Acres. The idea was to buttress the hideously beleaguered Mercury brand. Very compassionate of them, although hot­-rodding a Grand Marquis is a little like making bourbon out of Geritol.

Topped by an intake manifold fash­ioned by Jack Roush, this 32-valve alu­minum-block V-8 produces 302 horse­power at 5750 rpm and 318 pound-feet of torque at 4250. This engine will also see service in the upcoming Lincoln Aviator sport-ute. It is a glorious alloy lump, with a glassy idle and a mellifluous contralto yowl.

The Marauder's body appears to have plunged into a vat of tar. Even the head­light reflectors are partly blacked out, as if in readiness for nighttime air raids. The taillights are lifted from a Crown Vic cop car, again revealing Ford's angst over any mental association with the Marquis. In fact, everything is black except the 3.5-inch bazooka exhaust tips and the forged Alcoa five-spoke wheels, which are pol­ished to a luster that surpasses chrome and approaches Hall of Mirrors.

Inside, the Marquis's Elk Lodge wood trim has mercifully been replaced by a handsome gray "dot matrix" motif, and someone has had the decency to install a half-dozen legible silver-faced gauges, including a 7000-rpm tach, an oil-pressure gauge, and a voltmeter—the latter duo situated low in the center stack. The front buckets are unique to the Marauder. Perhaps they shouldn't be. Their cushions are low and squishy, encouraging your feet to splay in an unnatural toes-out formation. What's more, the standard "Nudo" leather is slippery, such that your keister makes regular migrations toward the pedals. Fortunately, those pedals are adjustable, which is all that saves the seats from the sort of excoriation usually reserved for waiters who tell you their first name is Nudo.

Compared with previous Panther platforms, this one is the Rock of Gibraltar—more rigid by half, less prone to body shivers and subassembly squirm. That's mainly due to a new frame with straight side rails and beefier crossmembers. But some of the credit goes to the Tokico nitrogen, monotube shocks—mounted outboard of the frame rails at the rear—as well as firmer anti-roll-bar bushings in front, less rubbery body-to-frame bushings, rear load-leveling air springs, and front springs lifted from the Vic police cruiser.

All of which works effectively through 18-inch BFG rubber, delivering 0.86 g of grip. On back-country roads, you feel it instantly: The Marauder is firm, flat, stable, composed. Roll control is terrific for a sedan so large, especially useful in 50-to-70-mph sweepers, where the nose takes a set and is prescient about tracing a single, clean arc. On-ramps are a ball.

Over Michigan's ruined roads, the ride is on the city limits of brash. Your backside feels every pothole, though the displacements rarely roll up your spine to register as jarring. There's also not a trace of the lateral head snap that bedevils other live-axle layouts we could name. One disappointment: Despite rear drive and 302 horses, it's rare that you can alter the Marauder's direction via the throttle.

This freshly disciplined handling is made to look all the more miraculous by new variable-assist rack-and-pinion steering, which should have been standard ages ago. It is simply wonderful: free of kickback or vibration, firmly weighted without becoming heavy, with the tiniest neutral zone on-center. It isn't sports-car precise—it won't tell you much about surface coarseness, for instance—but it faithfully relays every measure of turning force, revealing how much grip is in use, how much remains. On the freeway, the Marauder tracks like a Westminster bloodhound.

The transmission clicks off exquisite 6000-rpm upshifts (the redline is 6100 with fuel shutoff at 6250), but it is unfortunately programmed to upshift for even the most momentary part-throttle cruising. If there's even a go-kart straightaway between turns, the Marauder lunges for third, sometimes fourth if you haven't had the foresight to squeeze the overdrive lockout. It's all in the name of fuel economy, of course—worth contemplating given the twin-cam V-8's predilection for premium.

Launching the Marauder is a cinch. The tail squats, the nose rises two inches, and both tires paint an identical two-foot stripe. Every time. There's just enough wheelspin to publicize the Marauder's mission statement without revealing its operator's learning disorders. And as we said earlier, the exhaust moan is so endearing—more honeyed coyote chorus than wolf-man wail—that you find yourself as often provoking the gas for vibes as for velocity.

Traction control will be offered this fall. We never really missed it, but you'll likely need it for snow. That's because throttle tip-in is abrupt, in Motown's time-honored tradition of proving a car's performance pedigree in the first four feet of test drive.

At the track, the Marauder acquitted itself satisfactorily, but it is, after all, a 2.14-ton bolus, and it does not produce voluminous thrust at the pushrod-low revs of an Impala SS. With only 1500 miles on the clock, our test car scrabbled to 60 mph in 7.5 seconds (versus 6.5 for the Impala SS, 6.0 for our supercharged Lounge Lizard). It huffed through the quarter-mile in 15.5 seconds at 91 mph (versus 15.0 and 92 for the Impala, 14.6 and 97 for the Lizard). And its top speed—limited to avoid driveshaft vibration—was a wimpy 117 mph (versus 142 for the Impala and 150 for the Lizard). We faced similar vibration woes with our project car, quelling them only via a $698 Winston Cup driveshaft.

The last Impala SS rolled onto U.S. highways in 1996. In the car biz, that's two lifetimes, four epochs, and one Ice Age ago. Not even Ford knows whether there remains a market for big, brooding, brutish boulevardiers. But if so, 18,000 Marauders can be produced annually. For now, coal is the only hue, though dark blue arrives in six months and silver for 2004. The cheapest Marauder commands $4990 beyond a base Grand Marquis LSE, but the car is so nicely equipped that the only options worth mulling are a CD changer, a sunroof, and traction control.

One thing's for sure. The Marauder needs to be quicker if it's to hitch its star to the fleeting whims of aging SS cultists. In a sense, Mercury is lucky that those buyers are quick to ferret out aftermarket bolt-ons. Kenny Brown, Ford Racing, Roush Racing, and McLaren are all expected to offer supercharging kits for this car. With only four to five pounds of boost, this V-8 will easily produce 345 to 355 horsepower and a like amount of torque—same as our Lizard.

Overall, this Mercury is a competent creation—largely unflappable and free of evil traits. It is, in character, more "disciplined sedan" than "delinquent hot rod," however. As such, it would do well to lose the look-at-me wheels. Although it's not a car anyone would describe as agile, it does feel substantial without feeling heavy or clumsy—two traits that always plagued the Impala. More surprising is its near-perfect balance: No component—engine, tires, suspension, steering, brakes—over- or underwhelms any other or feels inappropriate to what is, after all, a five-adult sedan. That makes it something of a subtle engineering exercise. Ever hear of anything on Woodward Avenue described as subtle?

A Checkered Past

With its appearance in the 1963 1/2 Mercury lineup, the Marauder name essentially designated a fastback roofline on Montereys. Six months later, Montclairs and Park Lanes could also be configured as Marauders. The idea was to satisfy stock-car racers searching for slicker aerodynamics. By 1966, however, the name was used only to refer to certain drivetrain packages and slipped back into obscurity. The name wouldn't return to prominence until '69 and '70, when the Marauder turned up as an intergalactically ugly muscle-car contender. After it failed, the name went back into hibernation and stayed there—until now.

Shown here is a '64 Park Lane Marauder, with a manual four-speed and "Super Marauder" 427-cubic-inch V-8 with twin four-barrels—rated back then at 425 horsepower. Seven liters was NASCAR's limit for displacement. The car belongs to Bob Harkleroad of Port Huron, Michigan.

Parnelli Jones was a Marauder man, racing not only stock cars but also a '63 1/2 Bill Stroppe–prepared 406-cubic-inch variant that won its class at Pikes Peak. Fully restored, that car today is worth $60,000. —JP

Counterpoint

For a car that carries the moniker Marauder (that's "one who raids, plunders, and pillages"), I expected a little more danger. A little more treachery. And a lot more motor. Despite my best ham-fisted attempts, I couldn't even get myself into serious trouble. In a car like this, if I can't scare myself silly, then it doesn't have enough power. The paucity of low-end grunt is particularly disappointing. There are ready and enthusiastic buyers for such a car. And I wanted to be among them. I wanted to want a traditional rear-drive, V-8 American thumper—especially an all-black one—but this doesn't do it for me. Maybe the upcoming GTO will. —Daniel Pund

So here it is, a bad-boy Merc conceived to transport me to the days of my youth, i.e., the era of the big-inch V-8. Even better, the thrilling-days-of-yesteryear concept is augmented by contemporary steering, real brakes, and the ability to change course without scraping its door handles on the pavement. So why doesn't this thing make me want to get out there and maraud? Could it be because I could obtain a BMW 330i, a far better device for motorized marauding, for about the same money? I fit the Marauder demographic, and the driver-license people keep telling me I fit the marauding psychography, but update as they may, this old song ain't tuneful no more. —Tony Swan

This is Detroit's second goombata staff car, and the Marauder is many things the Impala SS never was. For example, the Mercury rides and steers better on its updated chassis and has a more deluxe interior with its yards of leather and swabs of metalized plastic. But two things the Marauder isn't, relative to the Impala—quick or especially comfortable. The Marauder's flat and formless seats feel like two loaves of damp Wonder bread, and even with its forest of valves, Ford's modular V-8 simply doesn't have the low-end beans of the LT1. And it's not getting any assistance from a transmission that short-shifts as though programmed by the EPA. —Aaron Robinson