The powerplant is amazing when driving. The trick is this: Maintain a constant cruise. Whether it is fast or slow is irrelevant. Pull the right downshift paddle, which has a satin finish, and slam the aluminum gas pedal into the carpet. The automobile squats on its tail and the long nose shortens, resembling an American muscle car in appearance, though not in size. The last thing you'll notice is that before you glance down and realize you're moving at a speed of more than 100 mph. The paddle moves with such a little force that it is difficult to see how it might alter the laws of physics. It is similar to immediately unloading 2000 pounds.

It doesn't feel or sound like a beat-up American V-8 (or V-10) that constantly, for no apparent reason, makes me think of a blast furnace. The 575M also lacks the Porsche Turbo's precise zing. We wish we could hear more of that magnificent V-12, but despite its increased displacement (from 5.5 to 5.7), our decibel meter registered 80 at full speed, five decibels lower than the 550.

Even though it has a horsepower peak at 7250 rpm, the V-12 is a charmer in a city. 434 pound-feet of torque are in use. The 5.7-liter is just more of a good thing since the 5.5-liter was high-revving, powerful, and tractable. The car's personality changes the most when the transmission is paddle-shifted. It is the system's best iteration to date. With the same fundamental mechanism, a Maserati we recently tested bucked and lunged at every stoplight. In the 575M, the clutch engagement is much smoother. We attempted it several times while trekking up Woodward, where the speed limits range from 10 mph to a complete stop. We declined to employ the completely automated mode out of moral propriety.