Project Petrolhead

Do you remember that fantastic Jaguar ad from 2015ish? The one where they point out that all Hollywood villains tend to be played by Brits? And that they all drive Jaguars? Yeah, that one. I watched it recently and it made me wonder… Just how true is it? Do the world’s white-collar crims really all drive a car with a cat statue on the nose? And if they do, where does that stereotype come from? As a Jag driver myself, I often get accused of having a boot full of stolen silverware (it’s oil paintings, actually), so I thought I’d have a wander back through the history books to find out for myself. 

I think the first question we have to ask is ‘is this reputation earned?’ well, luckily there’re a few decades worth of films to look back on for inspiration. Bond seems to be the biggest culprit for spreading Jag-based slander. Die Another Day features a machine gun-toting convertible XKR, Le Chiffre bundles Eva Green into the back of an X350 XJ in Casino Royale, Quantum of Solace’s Dominic Greene has his henchman shoot an agent that lands on the bonnet of his X308 Daimler, there’s a car chase through Rome with a C-X75 in Spectre and No Time to Die starts with Bond accosted by a squadron of XFs. Even the James Bond wannabes are getting in on the action, with the second Kingsmen film kicking off with a fleet of F-Paces (all wrapped in gold for some reason) chasing our protagonist through the centre of London. For a series as familiar with subtlety as I am with underwear modelling, I wouldn’t expect the Fast and Furious films to weigh in, but there it is in the seventh instalment, an F-Type R Coupe driven by Jason Statham’s revenge-seeking hitman character, and once again in the ninth film (yes, they’ve made ten of the bloody things) where one of the villain’s henchmen pilots an XE Project 8. It’s not even just action films with a bone to pick. What car does Keyser Söze get into after fooling New York’s finest? That’s right, a Jag XJ40. So now that we’ve established that a big Jag is visual shorthand for “Baddie On Board”, I think we need to explore why. How did the big cat become synonymous with ne’er-do-wells? Well for that, we need to take a trip back to the swinging sixties. 

Ahh, the sixties. The era of the Beatles, the miniskirt, and two identical twins who had London by the short and curlies. Ronnie and Reggie Kray famously enjoyed the luxury, performance and ‘get out of my way’ menace of the Mark X Jag. Initially designed to appeal to the American market, the Mark X (latterly renamed the 420G) was long, low, and about as wide as a Routemaster bus, but don’t think it’s some enormous leaden lump that can’t pull the skin off a rice pudding. Kitted out with the 4.2 litre, 255 horsepower straight-six from the E-Type, the Mark X could easily outrun PC Plod in his Morris Minor panda-car. Perhaps more pertinent to the more violent tendencies of a couple of thugs like Ron and Reg, the Mark X’s boot was big enough to smuggle at least two bodies at a time, or three if you’re handy with a hacksaw. 

Elsewhere in the UK, more organized crime was afoot. In 1963, a Royal Mail train was robbed. Normally, this wouldn’t be the end of the world, but this was just after a bank holiday weekend, so the takings totalled around £2.6 Million in high-value banknotes. The gang diverted the train, beat the guards black and blue, and loaded 120 sacks of cash into the boots of – you guessed it – two Jaguar saloons. This came as the advice of the Gang’s wheelman, a chap called Roy James. Now, James is an interesting figure, because he’s not just your common or garden crook, he also happens to be a professional racing driver. A dab-hand in a single-seater, James even managed to beat Jackie Stewart during the Formula Libre season of 1963, a season in which he won 16 races and posted 11 fastest laps. As we know, motorsport is a rich man’s game. As the old saying goes “if you want to become a millionaire, be a billionaire and go racing”, and very soon, James found himself struggling to fund the habit. Luckily, our man was not furnished with the strongest of moral codes, and soon found a way to put his skills behind the wheel to good use. Legend has it, he pitched up outside The Steering Wheel Club on Curzon Street and waited for a particular member to show up. Right on cue, F1 world champion Mike Hawthorn rocked up in his Mk I Jag. This was no ordinary Mk I, it was tuned by Coombs, the company who built most of the Mk I touring cars that raced across the country. Quick as a flash, James was in, and the Jag was gone. 

Roy James knew his Jags, and he knew what he liked. He knew that Mk IIs were faster thanks to their 3.8 litre engines, but he preferred the revvier 3.4 litre Mk I, especially since it had a lighter, more agile chassis, but because of that, they were trickier to handle in a hot pursuit, so while he would plump for a Mk I for himself (bonus points if it had been prepped for touring car racing), anyone else on the job would get a more stable Mk II. If he was so good then, how come he ended up behind bars? Well, let me put it this way, Roy James didn’t understand the meaning of “lying low”, and continued to race even while the Police were actively investigating the robbery, even showing up to one of his races in force, with James having to make a quick getaway from the pitlane to avoid capture. In 1975, after doing porridge for 12 years, James was approached by Bernie Ecclestone with a proposal. Using the silversmithing skills he’d honed over years of melting down and fencing jewellery (no, really), James was tasked with creating the F1 Promoters’ Trophy, a trophy that was still being awarded some 50 years later. 

It’s a solid link then. It must be. But there’s one small distinction to make. Jag drivers aren’t necessarily criminals, but more often than not, they are villains. What’s the difference? Probably the smooth, caddish attitude that turns an armed robbery conviction into a legend worth telling. Oh yes. It’s good to be bad.