'64
Anyone heard anything about this?
There is a massive 54 word article in this month's Evo, stating that following the collapse of negotiations to build the new Lancia Coupe, Bertone might be forced to close, possibly as early as July.
Obviously that would mean no TVRs either...
(Although Bertone having its most successful year on record with industry-beating profits would probably mean no TVRs with the current *ahem* "management team".)
Fanatic
What do Bertone actually do these days? The only production car I can think of that they designed is the Astra convertible. Do they sub-contract building models for other companies?
(This might be why they're going down.)
Furniture
Yes I had heard of it.Originally Posted by Coventrysucks
Basically Bertone are in very deep trouble. there was a rumour that actually the Sugana concept car would form the basis for a Lancia folding metal roof based on the Grande Punto platform, and that this car would eventually save Bertone.
But negotiations between Fiat Group and Bertone broke some weeks ago. Several options were discussed, including take over of Bertone by Fiat. But a deal wasn't reached. The region of Piedmont is pushing hard in order to not lose the jobs that Bertone provide currently. But so far things look very bad for Bertone.
Lack of charisma can be fatal.
Visca Catalunya!
'64
Bertone is basically a manufacturer that makes other people's cars.
They specialise in niche low-volume models and can pretty much everything any other manufacturer can do, from designing, building prototypes, full production and assembly.
www.bertone.it/en/index_en.htm
Oh dear.
The boss isn't a resident of Vienna is he?
The Special One
This must have something to do with the fact that Fredrik has a Bertone.
Money can't buy you friends, but you do get a better class of enemy.
Supporting Member
There goes his spare parts supply...This must have something to do with the fact that Fredrik has a Bertone.
"I find the whole business of religion profoundly interesting, but it does mystify me that otherwise intelligent people take it seriously." Douglas Adams
Furniture
In fact it's a she.
It's Lilli Betone, Nuccio's widow. She is CEO, chairman and the main shareholder.
Lack of charisma can be fatal.
Visca Catalunya!
Supporting Member
shown here with her daughter(?) showing the Barchetta last week at Villa d'EsteIn fact it's a she.
It's Lilli Betone, Nuccio's widow. She is CEO, chairman and the main shareholder.
"I find the whole business of religion profoundly interesting, but it does mystify me that otherwise intelligent people take it seriously." Douglas Adams
Enthusiast
and i was wondering what were those two women doing there...
12 cylinders or walk!
Member
so theyre going broke? cant be helped i guess, thats why its called darwinian economics.
www.myspace.com/kasaky
Member
Darwin never lusted after a Lancia Stratos like we all do. This, if true, is a ****ing travesty.
Say what you want about the horrors "wedge" styling inflicted on the car-loving world (Triumph TR8, anyone?), what came from Giuseppe "Nuccio" Bertone's pen was often brilliant and I'll put the Stratos WRC car against any for purity of form and function.
As far as the end of TVRs goes, well, two dudes from Florida bought it all up and anyone who reads my posts frequently knows how I feel about Florida.
Here's from page 3 of the 2008 Chevrolet Malibu breaks cover thread:
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"There is no God in Florida. Worst vacation of my life...
Its too long a story to tell, but the trip ended with a panic-retreat from a $40/night motel in Destin.
Aw, hell. It's a pretty good story.
I'd just turned 19, and me and a couple friends decided to take a week's vacation one summer. For some reason, we picked Florida over Mexico, which is a decision we all regret. At least in Mexico, you expect everything to be ****ed up.
So, we drive to Destin, Florida in high spirits, and check into the cheapest motel we can find. We went to the beach for a while, bought Booze on a fake I.D., and settled in for a night of quiet drinking-in.
By about 2 a.m., we were all pretty drunk, and one of my hillbilly buddies, who still goes by "Deer Chili" had gone a few doors down to party with a bunch of local rich-kid ravers. Not my scene, but to each his own.
He said he'd be right back, so we didn't worry until my other friend tried to call him. One time, the phone picked up on what my friend said "sounded like hell." It just rang without an answer whenever he tried to call again.
I went looking for Deer Chili at around 5 a.m.. Apparently, they'd fed him X, which, on top of the towering whisky drunk he'd been riding for the previous two days, must have turned him into a goddamn werewolf. The motel suite appeared deserted, except for one fat kid, and there were signs of violence everywhere. A lamp was smashed. The TV was in the kitchen sink. The drapes were torn from the wall and broken glass and cigarette butts littered the floor The fat kid was sitting on the couch, looking dazed or drunk or high or rollin' or god knows what.
I asked him if he'd seen a guy with no shirt and a big sombrero who talked like me and was carrying a bottle of whisky (that would have been Old Deer Chili). The fat kid said yes, and pointed to a closed bedroom door pulsating with that god-awful shit the ravers listen to.
"But don't go in there," he said. "They're doing drugs in there."
Whisky makes you open doors what maybe oughn't be opened. Deer Chili, bless his soul, didn't belong in that room. I could feel it.
Well, I'd been drinkin' whisky too. And I recognized by this point I was on a rescue mission, so I went in.
The smell of sweat and pot was nauseating. These kids had been partying in this foul motel suite for days, and they'd come to the party loaded for bear. There was another familiar smell I couldn't identify. I opened that door onto a scene that, at first, looked like something straight out of a Bosch landscape. No Lights; there were dim figures and glowing streaks everywhere. It looked like the room was full of glowing bats, swooping and diving. My brain just couldn't process it, but something awful was clearly happening in there.
As my eyes adjusted to the light cast by the green glowing display on the boom-box, I made out a raver dude leaning over the bed waving handfuls of glow sticks around. I think it was supposed to trippy, or 'third-eye-opening' some such raver-nonsense, but a raver girl laying back on the bed seemed to be enjoying the hell out of it. She had her hand down her pants anyway.
Before I had time to process this awful scene, I spotted Deer Chili across the room. He was in bad shape. He was leaning against the opposite wall, still clutching his whisky and a cigarette that had burned down to the filter and extinguished itself. Even in the dim light, I could tell he was crying, and I barely heard him say "Joe, you've got to get me out of here" over the music.
I shoved that damn raver out of the way and waded through a room filled with empties and trash. I grabbed Deer Chili by the arm and pulled him out of there before the ravers had a clue anybody had ever came in.
Poor Deer Chili... His sombrero was hanging by its cord down on his back and his eyes were blood-red. He looked like some sort of crazy, broken, new-age cowboy. He was crying, I later found out, because those two damn ravers had blown Vic's Vap-O-Rub into his eyes.
On our way out, he told the fat kid to "go back to the sea; go back to the big water." Never did know what he meant by that one, but I think it was a reference to the movie Free Willy.
As it turned out, he'd gone over to the party and started some shit with the ravers. Ravers, as some of you may know, can't fight worth a damn, while a drunken hillbilly is basically a killing machine. Anyway, he'd gone through the lot of them like a bull in a china shop, and single-handedly broken up the party. But not before making a couple friends, who fed him pot and X until he was so far gone he let them blow Vap-o-rub, that liquid stuff you're supposed to rub on your chest when you've got the flu, into his open eyeballs. From that point, he was effectively blind, and said after looking for "I don't know how long" for the door he gave up on finding any way out of that bedroom.
By this time the sun was rising, and we all just wanted to get the **** out of Florida and that damn motel before we all got arrested and wound up in some sort of reverse-deliverance nightmare. I got behind the wheel, still drunk, pointed my old Toyota Land Cruiser back towards Arkansas, and we chirped the **** out of the joint — we did not look back. The three of us didn't say a word until we crossed the state line and got ourselves out of that god-forsaken state.
And that is why I believe God does not exist in Florida.
...worst day of my life. never going to that state again. hope it falls off and sinks."
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So two guys from that state, who elected Jeb Bush as Governor and, through stupidity, probably got ole' G.W. Bush into the oval office and our country into a second, sandier Vietnam, have bought TVR?
TVR was doomed. Now it's in worse shape.
Fanatic
No, now all TVRs will be made from plastic and have OHV. As for suspension, look for leaf springs and twist beams and a return to boxy wedges.
I'm dropping out to create a company that starts with motorcycles, then cars, and forty years later signs a legendary Brazilian driver who has a public and expensive feud with his French teammate.
Fanatic
Better then what they're making now. Nothing.
Furniture
Weren't they already made of plastic?
Lack of charisma can be fatal.
Visca Catalunya!
'64
Smolenski still owns TVR, and the people who had cars on order/ inbuild before last October have been talking to previous TVR MD David Oxley.
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