2019 Bentley Continental GT W12 First Test: If You Got It, Do You Still Flaunt It?

What does the preceding spex spew actually mean? The Bentley is quicker to 60 than a Porsche 911 GT3, boogies through the quarter faster than the dragstrip-purposed Hellcat Redeye, has more lateral grip than Subaru WRX STI Type RA, and figure eights more zealously than an Aston Martin Vantage. The Bentley Continental GT is more than just a pretty status symbol.

And it is much more than an ostentatious sporting machine. That it feels the same underfoot cruising posh neighborhoods at 35 mph as it does barreling down a late-night stretch of freeway at 95 is the ultimate expression of a truly premium vehicle.

Its relentless surge of acceleration is quite thrilling—surprise, it has launch control—given that you’re motivating a two-and-a-half-ton vehicle. Road test editor Chris Walton says: “It accelerates like an electric vehicle, with ‘all the torques.’ It feels exponential.” All the torques? Yes, 664 of them produced by the 6.0-liter W-12. It’s not the sort of twitchy, semi-terrifying rush of a Lamborghini; it’s more akin to a locomotive’s unstoppable force, just more so.

Speaking of unstoppable … how are the brakes? Impressive. Are they up to the task of bringing the Conti to a retina-detaching halt if a deer suddenly leaps in front? Answer: Yes, despite having an awful lot of car to stop. From 60 to 0 mph in 105 feet ain’t quite supercar territory, but it’s downright impressive for a car of this girth. What’s more, attests assistant road test editor Erick Ayapana, the Continental GT has “excellent fade resistance; the brakes like a little heat.”

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Which may be partly why, on cold mornings especially, the steel discs whine in protest. Normally the reserve of carbon-fiber brakes, the racket from these iron chompers was enough to wake the neighbors—more so than the engine’s throaty bark at startup.

Similarly, the price you pay for the performance of the meaty Pirelli P Zeros (275/35R22 front; 315/30R22 rear) is the intrusive din of tire roar in the cabin. But in exchange, Walton states, “Grip in the skidpad is surprisingly high. The steering weight is just right. As the understeer goes away mid-skidpad, I can start feeding throttle, feel the front tires start to put the power down, and the tail starts to walk a bit.” In short, the Bentley is Gronkowski performing a pas de chat.

But Bentleys are ostensibly also about transporting their occupants in relaxed splendor, and here the Continental W12 falls a bit flat. The Comfort suspension setting is a bit underwhelming. I expected some sort of floating pillow, filled with zephyrs and angel feathers. Instead it was just a less sporty setting, with plenty of jolts and bumps from the road impacting my driver’s throne. Yes, I understand what the “GT” suffix means and entails. This was just a bit … much.

It’s the interior where the luxury truly shines. All the switchgear feels so elegant in its swing, detent, and rotation. The chrome organ-stop pulls and knurled knobs, combined with all that leather, feel like you’re lounging in some monarch’s hidden lair. What few pieces of plastic exist remain well hidden. Then there’s the secret rotating central display, which adjusts to suit your preference whether you like your information in analog or digital form—or you can silence it entirely behind a polished wooden fascia. Whirring through those panels never gets old; you hear yourself chortling like an 1890s land baron.

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