GQ:Car of the Week: The Cadillac Ciel

Yet another jaw-dropping vision of Cadillac's future that has almost zero chance of coming true. Is this the last hope for decadent American motoring?

First off, just take a moment to stare at this car—we've already taken several: the seamless lines running from hood to trunk, like the hull of an ocean liner; the whole ensemble, streamlined yet opulent like a post-Deco design study of the near-future, 2015 seen through the lens of 1928. And then you see the chrome grille, and the vertical rear lights sticking out like vestigial fins, and you realize that this is unmistakably, though somewhat unfamiliarly, a Cadillac. Why unfamiliar? Because as far as drop-dead gorgeous Caddys like this one go, it's been a hell of a long time.

The Cadillac brand has been toiling in shoddy, cut-rate dreck so long that younger car fans (like this writer) may have no recollection of the glory days. In fact, none of the upmarket American brands, from Caddy to Lincoln to the now-defunct Mercury, have seen much success in ages, aside from selling blinged-up SUVs. It's a far cry from the storied history of Cadillac, from the very beginnings of the automotive era up to the finned excesses of the postwar period. Cadillac has always been as American as apple pie and Ford Mustangs, but without the, shall we say, plebian connotations of either. The pinnacle of American luxury, Cadillacs offered accoutrements that gave Continental coachbuilders a run for their money, while kicking them in the face with outlandish proportions and flamboyant styling. God Bless America!

We won't delve into a detailed history here, but during the '70s and '80s, when safety and emissions regulations combined with the energy crisis to cause an industry-wide malaise of inferior vehicles and lackluster designs, Cadillac entered a slump from which they've yet to recover. This reached its zenith in 2005, when GM's idea of a luxury American Invasion was to package a Saab 9-3 with a 1.9-liter diesel, call it a Cadillac BLS, and sell it in Europe. If the Caddy land-yachts of the Cold War era were a triumphant icon of American culture that quite possibly made the case for capitalism and helped fell the Wall, then this was the stereotypically obese, ignorant Yankee of the sole-superpower age, content to shovel crapware overseas for a cheap buck. Why don't we export some Che Guevara iron-ons, while we're at it?

It seems like GM has gotten the message in recent years, sort of. Its "Art & Science" design language, which certainly aspires to an image of luxury and performance, has had mixed results—like the CTS-V, a screaming muscle sedan that car geeks love, but was apparently styled by someone with a ruler fetish. The last time Cadillac rolled out a design as scintillating as the Ciel was the Sixteen concept in 2003. Packing a 1,000-horsepower V16 (!), it had more than enough glam and glitz to pull the world's tycoons, rappers, and drug dealers from the Rolls/Bentley/Maybach oligarchy of Germanic luxury. Of course, these days a V16 is at least ten cylinders on the wrong side of political correctness, and so of course, that never came within a whiff of production. Will the Ciel suffer the same fate? The powerplant, a 3.6-liter turbocharged V6 that still manages to develop 425 horsepower—not even counting the lithium-ion batteries that make this, yes, a hybrid—certainly makes it more of the times. Really, there's one sticking point that certainly won't make it to the dealer: "Ciel" comes from the French for "sky," and that's just too, well, cheesy for a Caddy.

As of now, rumors are swirling that the enthusiastic public reaction to the Ciel has convinced GM to green-light production of their top-end Omega platform, signaling a new flagship halo car to slot above the upcoming full-size XTS. How much this new car will be based on the Ciel, and whether (read: how much) it will suffer from the dreaded concept-to-production transition remains to be seen, if it is indeed built at all. For our part, we obviously think it should. Sure, in this day and age, it's a decent bet to be a loss leader...but who cares?

In other words, let the Fords and Chevrolets of the world satisfy accounting: Cadillacs are brand ambassadors. In their various forms, they are an essential piece of Americana: outfitted with running boards for Tommy gun-toting, Prohibition-era gangsters; in girl-power pink, as status symbols for Mary Kay saleswomen. Maybe that vision of American living—wealthy, aspirational, excessive—is a thing of the past entirely, as double-dip recessions and conservationists squeeze ever-more dollars out of our wallets and liters out of our engines. Maybe, but maybe not. At the very least, as long as our beloved Interstate cruisers are still rolling out of the Heartland, we can dare to dream.