New Ford Capri is a decent family motor but is NOTHING like the original – so why give it such an iconic name?

THIS isn’t a Capri. It’s the OMFG.

Doesn’t look like a Capri. Doesn’t sound like a Capri. Doesn’t smell like a Capri. Doesn’t feel like a Capri.

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There’s no engine in the front or bag of cement in the back.

But at least Eric Cantona loves it.

Ford knew they’d get a bucketload for using such a cherished name on a four-door electric crossover.

They think many more won’t care.

We’ll see.

The car itself is decent. Dorky. Expensive. But a decent family motor. It’s basically an Explorer with a sportier roofline, begging the question: Why not call it Explorer Sport?

Or Mondeo? Or Sierra?

Anything but Capri.

It has the same menu of motors, batteries, suspension and steering as Explorer.

The same cabin. Upright tilting touchscreen, soundbar, massaging seats, wireless phone charging. Cut and paste.

But there’s nothing special about this car to lean on such an iconic name. No toys. No wings. No stripes.

Look how Hyundai worked its magic on the Ioniq 5 N. Maybe Ford will fix that with a Capri GT?

The standard car is a juicy £42k. That’s 170hp, rear-wheel drive and a 52kWh battery giving 242 miles. The top-spec version is, wait for it, £56k.

That’s 340hp, all-wheel drive with a 79kWh battery nudging 348 miles.

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You’re not far off Porsche Macan money there.

For those of you who don’t know, or have forgotten, Ford is using Volkswagen’s electric tool kit for Explorer and Capri. So they’re closely related to the ID4, Skoda Enyaq, Audi Q4, Cupra Born and others.

Each brand only gets to do detailed tuning. Which is where Ford excels.

We like how it drives. Acceleration is smooth and well-calibrated. There’s a nice balance between body roll and ride comfort.

But it needs to sit lower and hug the road. It needs wings and trick aero. It needs a boost button.

­It needs regen paddles to simulate downshifting for a bend. It needs a pulse.

That’s a Capri.

This is Explorer Sport.

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THIS is a Capri. The OG.

Looks like a Capri. Sounds like a Capri. Smells like a Capri. Feels like a Capri.

There’s an engine in the front and a bag of cement in the back. If you know, you know.

I love a Capri.

So do Bodie and Doyle, Terry McCann and Del Boy.

Even Richard Hammond. See the last episode of The Grand Tour.

The driving position is spot on. Nice and low. Legs outstretched.

You’re surrounded by a sea of carpet — everywhere but the roof.

All the controls are right at your fingertips.

Simple round dials show everything you need to see. No hidden sub-menus here.

Turn-key start. So you know it’s switched on. Choke. Five-speed gearbox. Manual handbrake. Wind-up windows and sunroof, radio cassette deck.

That’s a Capri.

You’re in charge.

The back end’s lively — even in this 1.6-litre Laser — that’s why the cement’s there.

Turn the tiller to 3 o’clock, dab on the loud pedal, and you’re dancing.

Every mile is special.

One bloke came up to me and said “She’s beautiful” as we reacquainted ourselves with this Eighties classic.

Others took pictures.

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She still looks right almost 40 years on.

Didn’t get any of that with the blue thing on the right.

Everyone with a pulse loved the original Capri for its style and affordability.

Sports car looks without the sports car price tag.

Even the ads were saying: “You might get wolf-whistles from the car next door.”

Ford sold 1.9million by the end of production in 1986.

That tells you everything you need to know.

Capri earned its status as a true icon.

It’s careless to use the name for a fugly, high-riding, expensive, electric four-door crossover.

Everything the original isn’t.

Have a look on Google, there are plenty of survivors out there.