How do you solve a problem like Jeremy Clarkson?
You give him a television show. On the BBC’s Top Gear, Clarkson spent decades converting bluster into broadcasting. He has a booming voice, a vocabulary of inappropriate superlatives and the conviction that every thought in his head deserves a tyre-squealing entrance. His bravado is half-performance, half-personality, earning chuckles for being rude while insulting foreign food and convertibles in the same breath.
To some, this is fearless television, a refusal to genuflect before political correctness or automotive manufacturers. Then again hearing Clarkson go off can sound like a V8 being loudly revved near a library, boorish and juvenile and too pleased with itself. His pomposity was crucially offset by longtime co-hosts Richard Hammond, a speed enthusiast, and James May, a nerdier fellow in a stripey jumper nicknamed “Captain Slow” by the others. Together, these blokes taking the mickey out of each other created something improbably special.
Clarkson kept testing the limits of acceptable behaviour, and in 2015 the BBC finally lost patience after he physically assaulted a Top Gear producer. He was axed, and with him Hammond and May also left. This refusal to disband was both musketeerish and self-preservatory. After a dozen years of co-hosting an internationally loved series where they compared apples to oranges—or at least orange hatchbacks—they went off to do the same thing over at Amazon Prime.
This series, called The Grand Tour, may well have been titled “Not Top Gear”, trying to appear newish while making the same engine noises. The trio remained as they were, older and creakier yet committed to delivering the same banter even as loyal viewers like myself gradually lost interest. Meanwhile, the BBC tried hard to resurrect their iconic series with reboot after reboot, bringing in familiar faces like Friends actor Matt LeBlanc and former cricketer Andrew Flintoff. None of it felt must-see anymore.
Last week, The Grand Tour rebooted itself with a new generation of three enthused young men, and it looks like we may finally—finally—be ready for Clarksonlessness. Jeremy is a farmer now, you see. James May owns a pub. Richard Hammond details cars. They have finally, it appears, moved on. As must we.
What I like best about the new boys on The Grand Tour is the fact that I know so little about them. Thomas Holland and James Engelsman are YouTubers from Canada who have spent years reviewing fast cars, and they seem really, really pleased to be here. Then there’s an Englishman called Luke who has christened himself “Francis Bourgeois”, a former engineer who interned at Rolls-Royce and has accrued TikTok fame based on the nearly indecent pleasure he takes in locomotives.
This new Grand Tour feels younger, fresher, and somehow, more interested in cars. The old fellows bickered and whined, pining for red meat and alcohol, laughing at each other’s sartorial and sportscar choices. Their irreverent chatter became the point, more than laptimes. I loved it. It’s why we tuned in to gaze at cars we’d never afford. The new Grand Tour features very little non-car conversation, and—shockingly—I’m glad. In a world full of podcasts, many of whom feature white men saying things authoritatively to other white men, we are certainly not starved of banter.
The show is cunningly well cast. Holland is all engine-sounds and plaid shirts, trying to aim for old-school triumph. He’s like, say, an affable version of Clarkson. Even his references are classic. When he has to discuss a cover version that is better than the original, he goes to Jimi Hendrix’s All Along The Watchtower. Engelsman is the clumsy and often silly one, getting things wrong (and taking that in his stride) while loving Porsches. He is clearly the new Hammond. He’s so good-natured that, when his car is slowing down, he apologises to it. “Sorry car, you’re doing so well, you’re doing better than me.”
So far so familiar. It is the trainspotter who provides the twist. Francis, if anything, is geekier and more intently focused on reciting facts about trains—un-fun facts that interest nobody but himself—than James May himself. Here, however, is the kicker: this fellow is decidedly not Captain Slow. He’s the best driver, the most aware, the one who will win most often. Times have changed. Knowledge is sexy. The nerd is the alpha now. Francis has a strange, singular screen presence—think James May by way of Peter Cook—and his wide-eyed glee at being the fastest or driving the most powerful car is infectious.
Therefore, like a gifted boy band promoter, the Amazon team has managed to give us three entirely different people who scratch an itch we’ve become rather used to. I binged The Grand Tour in one day, while texting a few petrolhead friends. Come on in, the water’s fine.
Like classic cars, The Grand Tour respects its old men. Each of the original hosts shows up briefly, one at a time, during this six-episode season. “These boys have a lot to learn,” says Hammond, watching them race clumsily around the track in battered cars. Through the episodes, the young men drive Corvettes in California, explore the automotive culture of Malaysia, drag track-cars through the desert of Angola. All while being nice to each other. Engelsman, for instance, taunts Francis for being “too handsome.” For now, they’re only mean to the Porsche 911. Some things should never change.
Raja Sen is a critic, screenwriter and columnist. His first play, a murder mystery called The Simla Affair, recently opened in Delhi. He is currently writing a horror film.