“Made out of chalk and with the wheels on the inside“.
“As if beamed to Earth directly from some extra-terrestrial race of far higher intelligence than our own”.
“Like something Buck Rogers would only dream of after the most determined of cheese marathons”.
All of the above are clichés of the kind associated with the Great Works of Citroën, circa 1955 to 1991. It even became hackneyed to speak of the palpable banality of Andre’s marque during the ’90s and beyond, where eccentricity was sidestepped in favour of, well, something that people would buy. Yes, Citroën cars came perilously close to being normal, though the XM and, later, the C6 still had a wonderfully rich vein of lunacy running through them.
Now rejoice. Citroën have been drinking very, very strong coffee again and finally have another offbeat car to show from it. And as if to underline their leftfield intentions, they named it “Cactus”, because, well they would, wouldn’t they?


Alright, so the full name is “C4 Cactus”, the alphanumerical prefix at a stroke reining in the insanity, tying the car to the existing Citroën hierarchy, and summoning up an image of an ’80s Corvette and desert vegetation interface. The name Cactus is ( it is supposed) intended to hint at strength and economy, and is one of the aspects of the car that wasn’t watered down between concept and sale. Things like the pillarless monocoque and some of the more ambitious chassis and drivetrain elements have been quietly sidelined for cost and inevitablity reasons. This is a car which wasn’t drawn with a mind towards addressing society’s insatiable appetite for aspiration and boastfulness. Individuality is obviously a key feature and you can see that ruggedness and more than a degree of anti-style have been in the mind of its creators from the outset.

Recent Citroëns haven’t really emotionally stirred me from an aesthetic point of view, but this does. In (optional for £250) “Blue Lagoon” it looks like something that’s come from a parallel tangent in the space-time continuum. It’s not really futuristic, it’s more like a Gerry Anderson re-imagining of the current day. The “Cross” wheels are brilliant, somehow putting me in mind of an MC Escher drawing and a sure-fire entry into the all-time alloy-wheel champions league. Toughness is implied by the stark, black, solid roof carry-bars, and the scratch-me-all-you-like wheelarch and tailgate mouldings, and is assured by those headline-grabbing “Airbump” protection pads. Run your hands over them and they feel as you expect them to, rubbery, hollow and pliable. How they’ll look in ten, even five years time is difficult to forecast.

In a duller colour the overall effect isn’t anywhere near as arresting, so don’t even consider anything but the boldest of hues. Certainly, don’t order a black one. I saw one in a petrol station which must have recently been waxed leaving messy white deposits all over the edges of the Airbump membranes. Not a good look. White, yellow, red, whatever, stick with bright primary colours and you won’t regret it.

Despite putting on such an outrageous accent, beyond the crazy couture looks the Cactus is yet another spin-off from the PF1 platform found underneath Frenchies as disparate as the sliding-doored Peugeot 1007 and the MINI-chasing DS3. There’s actually nothing remotely unconventional about it from an engineering standpoint, and though based on this baby chassis It still feels like quite a large car. It slots into the “C-Sector” alongside the Ford Focus and VW Golf, and feels like it has more road presence than either of those two.

Opening the driver’s door to the Cactus is akin to walking out from the workshop and straight into the managing directors study. The rough and tumble appliqués of the outside are nowhere to be seen, instead all is sleek and relatively minimalist, with sprinklings of hi-tech in prominent places. You won’t find any rotary switches or primitive levers for the HVAC, instead controlling climate is accomplished via one of the pages on the central control touch-screen. Personally, I don’t like this at all, in fact I pretty much loath every touchscreen I find in a car, but I can understand why people might prefer them. Despite being wrong.

Elsewhere there are touches which look almost as if they have been sneaked in by some maverick designer with a luxury fetish. The stitched leather door pull-handles which seem far too posh for a car of this calibre, and that big permanently mounted suitcase in front of the passenger is a treat to look at as well as to use. It’s also an interesting design feature, the existence of which is only made possible by the passenger airbag location above the windscreen, which I believe is a first.

I found myself comfortable enough in the driver’s seat to have not put much thought into whether I was actually comfortable or not. Nor did I assess the situation as regards my U-Boat shaped feet versus pedal positioning. I know that I didn’t get things tangled up down there, so that must have been OK. What I did note was that the visibility from my seat was excellent, and thanks to the big panoramic roof there was grow-your-own-veg levels of sunlight and airiness. The seats seemed well enough shaped, and I enjoyed the seat fabric which had evidently had some design-time lavished upon it.
So I started the engine and immediately missed having a proper dashboard. The slick little LCD in front of the driver (which reminds me, oddly, of a Psion organiser) presumably gives you an idea of speed and possibly other vital information, but I couldn’t see it at all in the bright sunshine that unexpectedly struck Bedfordshire on the day. I looked in vain for a rev-counter and must presume it missing. Maybe this car actually doesn’t have a rev limit?

I assumed this was the case, and drove it accordingly. One aspect of this car that appealed to me was its engine, a 1.2 litre, three cylinder turbocharged and intercooled jewel putting out an honest 110 hp. This is enough for 62mph from a standstill in 9.3 seconds and on to 117mph. And you know what, it feels URGENT.
The five-speed manual gearbox is a bit of a throwback to the ’90s, but it works well and seems to offer ratios spaced well for the torque characteristics of the engine. The torque feels chunky, lusty. You can drive this car on the torque, like you might a diesel, or you can thrash the living hell out of it, enjoying the harsh three-cylinder bark. Oh, I enjoy three cylinder engines a whole lot. This one is a good one.

Of course, I couldn’t even begin to tell you about the economy; my encounter with the Cactus wasn’t intended to show me if I could live with one, but to live with one. The answer to that is yes, I could. The reviews in the glossy magazines all say things about how it’s such a shame that the Citroën chassis just isn’t as much fun as rivals like the Fiesta. Autocar quotes:
“So there’s considerable initial roll and pitch, in response to even small imperfections or direction changes, which means that you’re always working at the wheel and getting pitched to different angles.”
Yeah, so what’s wrong with that? It’s called driving. It’s not a track car, it does things that a pure tarmac terrorist shouldn’t be expected to cope with, so surely you can forgive it a shortfall in absolute switchback prowess? And how about slow-car-quickly?
The Cactus was never designed to be thrown around circuits with gay abandon, so it is to the car’s infinite credit that doing so is such a laugh. Autocar are right, it pitches and leans, bounces and wallows. Not really surprising. In fact I’d have been staggered if it it did anything but. And I’m absolutely floored by how much grip it has.
In my opinion, grip is tantamount to cheating. A really good chassis shouldn’t need to rely on over-fat tyres for its roadholding. The Cactus doesn’t have a really good chassis, but this FLAIR model with its 17” wheels feels like its tyres are making up for any physical shortfalls the suspension presents. It’s all the more impressive when you see that those tyres are only 205 section; they feel like they could be much wider.
The suspension is geared more for touring comfort than agility, but this doesn’t pose a significant handicap if you’re in the mood for stirring your passengers up a bit.
Autocar again: “In short, there’s nothing here for the likes of us, and that’s a pity.”
Well, it’s your funeral. If you can’t find entertainment behind the wheel of this, you’re dead inside. It’s an entertaining machine as a whole. It’s entertaining to look at, definitely entertaining to listen to, and it seems like it might be reasonably entertaining to pay for, too. The fairly lavishly equipped test car listed at £19,310, the (very nice) optional black leather and panoramic roof helping to boost the price from the £17,290 it started at. For the amount of car, the amount of design and the amount of novelty here, this doesn’t feel like daylight robbery.

Or, if you settle for a lesser spec you can actually buy a Cactus for £12,990. As far as I can determine in The Brochure, the striking Hello Yellow is the only colour that doesn’t come at extra cost, and the base “Touch” model makes do with steel wheels and plastic trims. I would throw the plastic trims away, because I bet the steels look great. Even that most lowly Cactus still brings cruise control, DAB stereo and a pile of airbags, though it might be wise to save up the £395 to add air conditioning. You’ll also be down to a miserable sounding 75hp, but I don’t reckon that even having that little power would kill the Cactus as a fun means of transport.
But maybe it’s right that Autocar et al miss the point of the Cactus. You can drive around in yours smugly, knowing what the rest of the world are missing out on. The pricks are definitely on the outside.
(Disclosure: Citroën proudly gave me the keys of the Cactus, after I patiently waited for somebody else to bring it back. Hi to the course Marshall who I clearly upset for having too much fun)