Archive Road Test: 1979 Toyota Corona LE Liftback

From the June 1979 issue of Car and Driver.

The Toyota Corona has been around long enough that we all know it isn’t an Asian cigar. Coronas have tradition­ally embodied the Japanese idea of how Japan ought to interpret the standard American sedan, albeit smaller and a few years out of styling phase. Toyota, however, never allowed those small dis­crepancies to interfere with league-lead­ing sales in the United States. What happens in that league within the next two or three years will bear close watch­ing, because Toyota has chosen to increase the interior capacity of the Coro­na through the time-honored American method of an overall stretch job, con­sciously rejecting more modern, more efficient ways of creating greater carry­ing capacity. Moreover, while the Corona retains the old-fashioned front-en­gine-rear-drive layout, even the Ameri­cans are switching to front-wheel drive.

The new Corona is nothing if not a shriveled-up Mercury Marquis. It has all the qualifications: quiet cruising, super-­plush interior, doodads here, thingama­jigs there. On this score, the Corona is another direct hit for Toyota—if it de­termined the correct grid coordinates before calling in the strike. No one would deny that Middle Americans like their luxury, and when it arrives on four wheels, so much the better. But Middle Americans, appreciating the virtues of a good thing, also enjoy having their cake even after consuming it, a distinct possibility with such up-to-date passen­ger modules as the GM X-bodies, the Honda Accord, and the VW Dasher and Audi Fox.

If the new Corona is just a stopgap in the dam-burst of new front-wheel-drive cars, has Toy­ota provided a stout enough plug? Like Mazda and Datsun, Toyota has referred its designers to the European look. The overwrought styling gimmickry of past Japanese sedans has given way to clean lines and unimpaired greenhouses. The cars are not only nicer to look at, but nicer to look out of. Based on the latest Celica chassis, the Corona has been stretched to a 99.4-inch wheelbase and an overall length of 175.0 inches for both the standard four-door sedan and our five-door LiftBack. The Celica chas­sis provides front MacPherson struts in the Corona for the first time, and coil springs for the rear. The clean lines of the body extend into a longish hood, the single sacrifice to American Gothic, but the grille area is simple, highlighted by quad rectangular head­lights and the front half of new urethane bumpers. The Corona's rear-quarter and rear views are particularly nice, the window layout recalling the quarter-­window treatments favored by several less expensive German sedans, the rear end itself recalling several hyper-expen­sive German sedans.

The liftback pivots upward at the top of the back window, its weight support­ed by struts that offer too much resist­ance to the first opening tug. This hatch can be released by the key, at the back, or by a remote release on the floor beside the driver’s seat. A folding, removable panel can hide a considerable amount of luggage and valuables in the space beneath from greedy eyes. A slam of the hatch reaffirms the sturdy structural character Toyotas have been known for, as do the clean-fitting doors, body pan­els, and trim, but even a glance at the thick paint reveals a surprising amount of rippling orange peel. If mosquitoes could ski, the Corona’s lumpy finish would make dandy moguls.

To American eyes, the interior is where Toyota has invested most of its development money and attention. In the best blue-chip tradition, the seats are the pride of this indoor portfolio. For the front seats, unfortunately, more has been socked into presentation than into long-range benefits. Plumply padded with the bulging love handles of the good life, the front buckets provide a wide range of adjustments, including lumbar support, but little satisfaction. The striking upholstery is stretched over firm pads, but someone deep with­in Toyota has gone to a great deal of trouble to see that they provide no real support, except in the most rudimenta­ry sense. Instead of sitting in a seat, you find yourself sitting on a tipsy and ill-de­fined pile of cushions. The articulated lumbar support is effective in an isolat­ed way, but there is more to seating comfort than simply catering to the small of your back. The Corona’s belt­-harness mechanism feeds its straps out of both upper and lower reels, and there is no locking feature except in a crash, so there is no additional support to be found in the belts.

As a matter of fact, you’ll find more seating comfort in the back of this bus than up front. If front-seaters are willing to slide their al­ready ill-at-ease bods forward a little, you’ll find perfectly charming quarters behind. Next year, Toyota should assign the back-seat man to the front. The low­er cushion extends well forward under the thighs, and there is enough firm shaping behind to support the torso comfortably without confining. And, in this LiftBack, the rear seat is split and can be folded half or completely down for a tremendous increase in trunk space. An altogether better deal than the front seat, and excuse enough to sign up a chauffeur.

Fencing in the plush upholstery in the LE (Luxury Edition) are enough real and imagined luxury touches to incite longtime Lincoln owners to cootchy-coo the Corona under its plastic little dash. From cut-pile carpeting (which also cov­ers the rear cargo area) and a visor vani­ty mirror to a time/date digital quartz clock, a tilt-adjustable steering wheel, and a remote-control exterior mirror, there is something for everyone. There is also a delayed interior-lighting system that stays lit long enough for everybody to get fastened in and the driver to stick the key in the ignition. Ahhh, those nouveau riche Japanese. About the only thing they've missed is a power antenna for the AM/FM stereo, but the antenna is on the driver-side windshield pillar, so it’s an easy reach out into the hot/cold/wet/dry outer environs to put the thing up or down.

An efficient temperature-control sys­tem keeps those outside influences at bay once you’ve had your way with the antenna. The air conditioning proved most pleasant on a Phoenix-to-Los An­geles mid-afternoon high-speed run across the desert, and the normal heat­ing and ventilating functions provide all the self-contained climatizing we could wish. Adjusting everything to your pre­cise requirements is easy. The markings and placement of the controls are ideal­ly done, and could not so much as fud­dle even a moron. An example for oth­ers to follow.

Much of the considerable amount of plastic molded into and around the inte­rior is homely of texture, but the com­position of the dashboard grouping is nice, if lacking in gauges. There is an 85-mph speedometer and fuel and temperature gauges, nothing more. The various surfaces around the instruments in our maroon test car were finished in a range from maroon, black, and silver to wood-grain and gray. This spectrum of colorings was at least restrained to dark tones, and the effect was surprisingly harmonious.

The straightforward body and chassis and the plush interior are your clues that the five-door Corona LE is no more than a family car, anything but a sportster. It is best suited to easy runs on gentle roads, as any attempt at ath­letic maneuvering will prove, Toyota has perpetuated a Japanese syndrome that seemed to be dying out until the new Corona came along: too much spring, not enough shock. This is the kind of classic component mismatch en­couraged by low speed limits and over­restricted drivers. Japan uses its crowd­ing of cars and people as an excuse for 35- to 40-mph speed limits on two-lane roads, and not much higher on divided highways. Cars that behave like the Co­rona are the result.

The firm springs create a nervous, hopping harshness, and the light shock control creates a loose sloppiness. The result is an unpleasant ride, except on the most perfect of surfaces, and ham­strung response to almost any input of note, no matter how smoothly initiated. The power steering offers little except the reduction of effort. Fairly accurate on center when the road is smooth, it feels as if it is bound together with a Hula-Hoop on bumpy roads. It hasn’t much feel on center in any case. It naps often and hangs out a Do Not Disturb sign at every opportunity. Slithery un­dersteer, squirmy tires, and startling brake dive convince you your tender Jell-O is about to be tipped out of the bowl: most unsettling when you experi­ment on purpose, let alone when you ask the car for help in the face of an impending disaster.

The Corona comes into its own on the unfettered Interstates, shifted into a very quiet fifth and laid back for the du­ration. Slipping into fourth maintains speed on long upgrades. Winding up through the ratios to the tall, tall fifth gear uncovers mild resonances at cer­tain engine speeds, but the engine is satisfying in its ability to move you past lagging traffic in lower-gear passing sit­uations. Straight-line performance from a standing start is nothing to write home about. In fact, a letter might get there sooner than you, but the familiar 2.2-liter, single-overhead-cam four promises its previous ageless reliability and dogged dedication to duty. Its 90 horsepower can be run through a three­-speed automatic if the nice five-speed stick has no place in your exercise pro­gram. With the stick, the well-placed gas and brake pedals make heel-and-toeing a simple flex-of-the-ankle exercise when you want to keep the gas flowing through the carburetor with a minimum of interruption. Judging by the rate at which the Corona pumps the unleaded out of its 16.1-gallon tank, the flow would seem to be seldom interrupted at any time. At 18 mpg, the fuel consump­tion is anything but economical for a car this size (2900 pounds), never mind one with a five-speed.

Toyota seems to have backed itself into a corner with the Corona. The company’s economies in using the old­-fashioned Celica chassis require forfeit­ures on the part of the buyers, forfeit­ures in efficiency and satisfaction. In the face of the state-of-the-art fwd X-bod­ies, Accords, Foxes, and Dashers, and even the more conventional Mazda 626, the Corona is a reminder of the past. It may offer up more quasi-luxury in the visible sense, but the cars of the compe­tition are really much nicer at the price, both to drive and to spend time in. Time will tell if the Corona is the out-­of-date cigar that will explode in Toyo­ta’s face. If it is, there is always next time.