Aston Martin One-77
The ultimate Aston Martin. The Valkyrie will be faster, but the One-77 is very, very special.
FOR:
Phenomenal engine wrapped in sheer beauty. It’s a proper driver’s car, and a piece of pure supercar sculpture. What an event.
AGAINST:
Rubbish gearbox, a few Poundland cabin details. They don’t pop up for sale very often.
Overview
What is it?
A vision of the ultimate road-going Aston Martin. Or at least, it was back in 2009 when the One-77 was first announced. Then-Aston boss Dr Ulrich Bez stunned the car world when he announced that Aston Martin was going to build a limited-edition supercar that would cost a million pounds. This was Aston standing up against the likes of Bugatti and Pagani and saying ‘we’ll have a slice of your best-of-the-best action, thanks very much chaps’.
While the One-77 bore all the usual Aston cues (widemouth grille, sweptback headlights, a prolonged bonnet and cab-back stance with a pert tail) this was not simply some sort of powered-up, flared-out Vanquish spin-off covered in papier-mache. The car was designed around a race-spec carbon-fibre monocoque with exquisite carbon subframes cradling the front-mid-mounted engine and in-board suspension.
This utterly uncompromised layout was then clothed in all-new aluminium panels. Bespoke lights, wheels, doors and glass were all tooled specifically for this run of just 77 cars. The deposit alone needed to secure a build slot – presuming you were very near the top of Aston Martin’s preferred client list – was a plump £200,000. That left a nice, round £1,000,000 to pay upon delivery.
Fittingly Aston’s most expensive car to date was also its fastest.
Deep beneath the front-hinged bonnet lies the One-77’s main event: its fabulous engine. For a flagship Aston, it could only be a normally aspirated V12. The company’s usual 6.0-litre unit was fettled by Cosworth, who ditched the usual cylinder liners in favour of a nanoscopic low-friction coating, swelling capacity to a mighty 7.3 litres, while the engine’s actual weight fell by 15 per cent to 260kg, thanks to its lighter internals. This love letter to internal combustion was then shoved 100mm lower in the car than Aston’s run-of-the-mill V12s, buried deep where it couldn’t escape, or interfere with the handling.
More room to suck/squeeze/bang/blow and racier parts doing all of the above meant more power, of course. Rated at 750bhp and 553lb ft, the One-77 was, at launch, the most powerful naturally aspirated car in the world. And while cars like the Ferrari F12 and various one-off Zondas quickly caught back up, the One-77 has remained Aston’s fastest road car, good for a claimed top speed of 220mph, with 0-62mph achievable in 3.7 seconds.
Unlike today’s rarefied exotica, the One-77 did without a plethora of driving modes. Besides a Sport setting for the gearbox, there’s nothing to dial up or switch around: no multi-stage traction control here. There is active aero, but the pop-up rear spoiler hardly looks like the sort of aerofoil that could keep this car pinned to a tunnel ceiling.
All at once, the One-77 was properly cutting edge, and somehow charmingly old-school. While it may have been overshadowed by contemporary Bugattis going faster in a straight line – and hamstrung by its antiquated gearbox – this car deserves to be remembered as one of the most special British supercars of all time.
After all, it’s so exclusive, you’ve never even seen James Bond near one…
Photography: Mark Riccioni
Driving
What is it like on the road?
Slot the oblong glass ‘key’ into its spring-loaded orifice amid the dashboard and it really does feel as if you’re somehow feeding the engine, which lies mere centimetres behind the bulkhead – some sort of appetiser.
Press the transparent domino until flush with the console and it’s lights, big noise, action. The anti-clockwise rev-counter moves off its stop and settles into a creamy-smooth idle, backed by a wonderfully exotic, orchestral idle. While the One-77’s exhausts exit out of the back of the car, directly into its diffuser, they get there by running down the carbon sills, rather than through the central spine. As a result, you and your lucky passenger are completely enveloped in noise. You’re about to have a very good day.
As per every Aston from the past couple of decades, you select drive not with a stalk or a lever, but a ‘D’ button on the dashboard. Thankfully, Aston did away with its fiddly fly-off manual handbrake for the One-77, but the bad news is the company also decided a manual gearbox would’ve been out of place. And it fitted a robotised six-speed, single-clutch manual, with paddleshifters.
Now, 2009 was a long time ago in motoring terms, but even then, flappy paddles no longer guaranteed more head-nodding driveline shunt than you’d get riding a camel. The Nissan GT-R had blown everyone away with its seamless twin-clutch gearbox. Porsche was busy refining its own PDK transmission. The world had spoken. Two clutches good. One clutch bad.
Aston Martin insisted the DB9-derived automated manual was the right choice for the One-77 because it was indeed lighter than a DCT. Lamborghini and Pagani offered the same excuse when presenting the Aventador and Huayra. Frankly, Aston Martin simply didn’t have the budget or time to develop a blank-sheet twin-clutch ‘box capable of juggling 750 horsepower, so it had to stick with what was on the workshop shelf.
And at first, it’s the rear-situated transaxle gearbox, married to the engine by a carbon propshaft housed in a magnesium torque-tube, that defines your early One-77 experience. It’s utterly, inexcusably crap.
You growl away in first… and stay in first. For ages. First is desperately retained as the gearbox nervously puts off the awkward moment-of-truth when it has to shunt into second. Cog swaps are desperately slow in automatic mode, and woe betide the hapless billionaire who has to execute a fraught three-point turn.
By the time it’s found reverse and you’ve summoned the courage to find the biting point, the car’s appreciated so much in value you could’ve hired a crane to spin it instead. As per all single-clutch gearboxes, you’ve got to avoid creeping stop-start traffic or performing hill starts, else you’ll barbecue the clutch. Best have the landscape gardeners round to flatten your driveway approach.
So, it’s no good for posing, and parking it (or pulling it on and off your private cargo jet) is like playing Russian roulette with a flamethrower. And this might seem surprising, because that’s not what you expect from an Aston Martin.
You presume this is a gentlemanly super-GT: an impeccably-mannered stiff upper-lipped member of the gentry. But it isn’t. It’s actually a knife-edged, race-ready, blood-and-thunder supercar. The One-77 is a well-dressed savage.
The throttle is a long-travel squeezathon, not the sort of turbo-hybrid switch you get in a modern hypercar. And as your right foot disappears into the depths of the footwell, it summons a rich cacophony of induction noise, as the big V12 breathes in through the outer titanium intakes set into the bonnet.
With modern active exhausts and piped-in autotune we’ve forgotten how melodious a massive naturally aspirated engine can be – how it gives you distinct, interesting tones on different throttle openings, building like a well-drilled choir to a baleful crescendo.
All Aston V12s sound soulful, but this engine has a fury to it. It’s revvier. Harder-edged. Bloody frightening.
Now, you’re almost glad of the pause for thought as the gearbox interrupts the row. Even in Sport mode, summoning the gearchanges via the column-anchored paddles with a complete foot-off-pedal lift to smooth out the transition, the One-77 never nails a totally seamless shift, but that makes the next G-force hit as the gear slots home and the V12 bellows forward again even more exhilarating.
In-gear, it feels rampantly quick. Forget the gearbox. Just leave it in third. That 3.7sec 0-62mph time has a lot more to do with the gearbox than the One-77 not having the firepower of today’s top-flight supercars.
The One-77 lulls you into thinking it won’t be neck-snappingly quick because of its relaxed, cab-back gait. It’s also easy to forget this is not the standard, weighty, meat-and-three-veg Aston Martin, made out of cathedrals and snooker tables.
With its carbon monocoque and dainty panels, it weighs 1,630kg. That’s 200kg less than today’s DBS ‘Superleggera’, 100kg lighter than today’s Ferrari 812 Superfast and actually a mere 20kg or so heavier than the all-carbon Lexus LFA, which boasts two fewer cylinders.
Arrive at a corner and the ceramic brakes scrub off speed brutally – just as well, given engine braking is a ‘when will it downshift?’ guessing game. Turn in and you’re instantly reminded how low down and far back the One-77’s engine is hung in the chassis. Despite feeling like you’re sat right over the back axle in a giant clownshoe, the car pivots delicately and responsively about your hips.
There’s maybe a touch more initial body roll than you’d expect – rendered more noticeable by the unsupportive seat – but the car settles into a trustworthy stance mid-corner and the oddly-misshapen steering wheel bristles with feedback. The flat sides look hopelessly uncomfortable to grasp, but they feel natural to hold, and the steering – quicker than a contemporary Aston but not as instant as a modern Ferrari – never asks you to take your hands off the wheel, so feeding the curious perimeter isn’t a problem.
Everything about the One-77’s handling is adjustable. Each original owner had the factory set the double wishbone suspension’s pushrod dampers to their personal preference, so you can opt for a track-only skateboard if you’re planning to hire out Yas Marina for the week, or a more loping softness if you’re driving riviera to riviera.
Should you take your One-77 to a circuit, you’ll discover that with space to play with, this million-quid bauble has a dark sense of humour. That V12’s always goading you into wringing it out, but despite the racecar-like damping, perfect weight distribution and 335mm rear rubber, it’s always got more power than traction. Even in third. And fourth.
Get greedy with the throttle mid-corner and there’s absolutely nothing ye olde 2009 traction control can do to stop the revs yelping as the rear tyres cry ‘oh for heaven’s sake’.
And yet, there’s such a gorgeous natural balance to this wild, untamed Aston. It’s a moment you’ll provoke, not live in fear of. Give me an off-camber third-gear corner over a three-point turn in this monster any day.
On the inside
Layout, finish and space
Pop the flush door release, extent a leg over the thickset sill and drop down into the surprisingly firm seat. The door opens up a little in traditional Aston fashion, and all told access is no harder than in your average billionaire’s carbo-tanium hyperthruster. It shuts with ease, damped on a gas strut.
Drinking in your new environment, you’ll note there’s little sense of where the bonnet ends, most of the side mirror lens is filled with rear wheelarch muscle, and the rear-view mirror is basically a suspension-appreciating window. The car feels wide, brooding, and intimidating.
Inside, Aston could have just pasted in a Vanquish cabin with a few more carbon fillets and headed for the pub, but instead, they created a spectacle. They had to, because of the engine.
Viewed from under the bonnet where it lies restrained beneath the carbon brace, you’d be forgiven for thinking the One-77 ‘s motor is only a V6. Half of the gigantic powerplant is lost behind the bulkhead, completely aft of the front axle, and that had severe packaging consequences for the cockpit.
The designers had to taper the centre console outrageously through the interior to disguise the sheer mass of dashboard invading your personal space. It sweeps through between the seats and disappears up over the scuttle like a road heading for the horizon. Trim-wise, you could have any flavour of wood, leather or carbon you fancied – even turned or anodised metal was offered.
Like all Astons past and present, it smells gloriously expensive, as if they only trimmed it using cows that showered twice a day and wore designer aftershave. And the switchgear – all of it tactile, with touch-sensitive nonsense still mercifully a few years away – feels reassuringly classy. Even if the primitive infotainment system is about as impressive as a 2009-era smartphone.
Like the recalcitrant gearbox, it’s tech that dates the One-77’s cabin. The pop-up screen’s grainy resolution and TomTom navigation seem hopelessly playschool compared to what you’d find these days in a Ford Fiesta, and the digital readouts among the instruments look to have been prised from someone’s Casio wristwatch.
Yes, the column stalks are borrowed from an old Ford Mondeo. Can’t imagine many of the 77 individuals who got to configure one of these rocket-propelled boudoirs from new noticed, though. They’ll have been cooing over the only One-77 logo – an engraved plaque just inside the rear three-quarter window. This machine drips with delicious details.
Practicality? Not the One-77’s strong suit, if we’re honest. There is a boot, under a popper-secured leather flap beneath the rear hatch, which is mainly there to showcase the naked inboard suspension. The cargo hold itself is barely commodious enough for the exclusive toolkit and a packet of crisps.
Cupholders? Forget it. There’s no glovebox, zero door bin stowage, and only a minuscule armrest cubby hole to hide your Jelly Babies under. Obviously you don’t get Apple or Android smartphone mirroring. And with the cabin being encircled by fire-breathing exhaust, it can get a tad sweaty of a summer’s day.
Yet more evidence, then, that the One-77 is defiantly not a super-GT. This ain’t your grandad’s Bentley Continental GT with ‘roid rage. It’s a proper, unapologetic supercar. Send the luggage on ahead, grab a fistful of painkillers and take the twisty way, not the motorway.
Owning
Running costs and reliability
Values? Impossible to say definitively, as each car is so individual, and they’re auctioned so rarely. Budget for between £1.5 and £2 million.
Still, if you can get your hands on one, then Aston Martin will happily look it over for you and set it up just so. This particular example’s just enjoyed a two-year hand-assembled rebuild, complete with racier cams from the one-off Victor.
Aston will dial in the suspension or change the geometry depending how you’d like to use your car. They’ll even ship it about the world so you can thrap it about wherever is most convenient. The prices for such service do not, funnily enough, appear in the public domain.
Even among One-77s, there are rarities: seven chassis were designated Q-Series, denoting even more personalisation. Look out for one by spotting the incongruous red stripe on the front bumper’s lower lip, as if it’s bottomed-out on a speed bump and started bleeding.
Running costs are steep, but come along. Are you really crossing one off the ‘want’ list because it drinks at a rate of teen-miles to the gallon if you’re being careful and emits more CO2 than a Bitcoin factory? This is a machine for the most fastidious, completist, obsessive Aston Martin collector, and they’ll pay whatever it takes to become one of The Seventy-Seven.
Should you be interested in this particular example of Latvian ownership, then you’ll be fascinated to hear it’s chassis 76 of 77, it’s the only one painted in Braemar Blue, and its owner likes to take it to track days at the Red Bull Ring, Nürburgring, Portimao and Spa-Francorchamps. So no, they’re not all garage queens.
Verdict
Final thoughts and pick of the range
It ended up being supercharged, weighed down with luxuries and equipment, and pitched as a hypercar spliced with a long-legged GT that never quite hit the mark and landed somewhere inbetween.
The One-77 shows what might have been. The is what the SLR would’ve been like if Murray could’ve realised his naturally aspirated, lightweight dream. There’s a joyous sense of barely contained fury to the One-77, that its engine is bloody apoplectic about being restrained inside a stunning bodyshell and would like to shout itself free given half a chance.
Aston Martin had the gall to dress up an edgy, aggressive, take-no-prisoners thoroughbred in a dignified lounge suit. Perhaps that’s the reason it’s not celebrated as one of the most iconic hypercars of the early 21st Century. It should be. Apart from the gearbox. The One-77’s transmission isn’t just an Achilles heel – it’s a war crime.
Then again, this car represents a moment in time, before downforce, hybrid drivetrains and technological mode-overload began to define the world’s fastest road cars. So perhaps it’s fitting this sensational engine has to duel such a truculent gearbox before it can unleash its potency on the world. This imperfection defines its place in history, like the Second World War shrapnel scars on Westminster Abbey.
Or maybe in decades to come, there’ll be a manual conversion for the One-77, like there is nowadays for the original Vanquish, also beset by jerky gearbox purgatory. The One-77 will stand for all time as one of Aston Martin’s finest hours: a British Zonda, fierce and slightly preposterous. It’s only a proper transmission away from being one of the true all-time greats of the analogue supercar realm.
Source topgear.com
