2024 Jaguar F-Type R 75 Review: Do Not Go Gentle

The F-Type deserved a proper goodbye.

Jaguar has spent over a decade producing this oh-so-pretty two-seater, and the last 12 months preparing us for the end. The 2024 F-Type R 75 is one of the last versions of this sports car, a sort that the world is likely to never see again.

On paper, this is little different from the P450 convertible we drove almost two years ago. More power sounded like fun, but what else could we really glean from the F-Type again, especially in the winter? As it turns out, quite a lot: spending a week with the R 75 solo allowed its strengths to shine, and serve as a final farewell to a car that is unlike anything else on the market.

Ha! Oh, you’re serious.

Not much has changed since the F-Type got a facelift to kick off the decade. It was a surprisingly divisive move at the time, as the switch from vertical to horizontal headlights gave the Jag a squint that felt meaner but also less unique. The changes were more subtle out back, where the lighting took on a more angular design but stayed true to the original shape. The overall shape remains as eye-catching as before, especially in profile, where that low nose only accentuates the rear-set cabin and curved haunches. Viewed as the final evolution of the classic British roadster it’s a timeless design, especially in the Giola Green over tan combo here, which in itself is a subtle remix on a classic combo.

Over on this side of the pond, Jaguar simplified the F-Type engine lineup a few years ago: all V8s, all the time. This P575 model is named as such for the horsepower it produces, which flows through the tried-and-true ZF eight-speed automatic to all four wheels. Sister company Land Rover may be stuffing BMW V8s under hoods (again), but this is still the homegrown 5.0-liter V8, supercharged like the iconic Spitfire.

For enthusiasts, the F-Type launched with the sort of exhaust noise that bordered on pornographic. It was the soundtrack to life on a cosmic scale: tectonic plates shifting, planets colliding, entire galaxies merging. Thunder? Pffft, the plaything of mere gods.

Jaguar has wound that bravado back a bit. Noise regulations are the official line; I’m not convinced putting expectant mothers into early labor or causing dogs to howl aren’t also undocumented reasons. Even “a bit” still allows for a cultured cacophony out of those quad exhaust pipes however, especially with the loud button engaged—which is all the time during our week together, save the one 4AM start. The auto ‘box is still flawless on its own, and responds to pulls of the paddles with authority.

Even on foot-wide Sottozeros, 575 horsepower sounds like a recipe for disaster in the deepest, darkest parts of winter. We get a few days of sunshine together, while the back half of the week is a slushfest. Ruh-roh.

Not a worry. The F-Type takes it all in stride: the long-travel throttle pedal acts as its own sort of traction control, and that wonderfully responsive supercharged V8 removes the guesswork. (The actual TCS is hilariously easy to overwhelm in these conditions if you’re so inclined.) Suspension tuning belies the nearly 4,000-pound curb weight too; there’s no mistaking the F-Type for a flyweight, but it keeps all its extremities in check without either punishing the driver or feeling floaty.

Same goes with the electronically assisted power steering: Jag hasn’t bothered chasing the direct purity of a Boxster, but after 10 years, the F-Type’s helm has an honest and appropriate level of heft and quickness lock-to-lock. There’s a real sense of what each contact patch is up to, and it allows you to trust the Jag early and often.

The classically-trimmed cabin is a quality if cozy place to spend time. The leather work is all exceptional, and the raising central air vents are still a welcome bit of theater. The metal-effect trim bits aren’t entirely convincing, but hey, Mercedes does it worse for double the price. I will forever sing the praises of the clever push-and-pull climate control dials, which maximize functionality while maintaining physical controls. I’m less impressed with the 14-speaker Meridian sound system—more like Midridian, am I right? Sorry.

The F-Type launched in droptop form and as wonderful as the coupe is to look at, I think this is still the better way to experience the car. The roof is well insulated and it’s even pretty decent to see out of—through the rearview anyway, as the over-the-shoulder view is awful. My personal rule is roof down unless it’s actively precipitating; in the F-Type it’s easy, since the wind bluster is minimal and the heating is super effective. Plus, more of that exhaust note!

The digital instrument cluster is a wholly modern feature, and it’s a good one. I’m sad that the F-Type will disappear without ever getting the brand’s Pivi Pro infotainment setup, however. The existing system is bordering on ancient: impossible to read in direct light, not particularly quick in responses, and limited to wired Apple CarPlay only.

Is infotainment the focus of a sports car? Of course not, but after the second time the system goes unresponsive, and the rearview camera glitches out, I yearn for even the previous generation of BMW’s iDrive. This is not the sort of classic experience I was looking for.

The F-Type solidifies its plaything persona with one of the silliest trunk shapes in the industry, like a final three-dimensional kiss off from someone who hates, hates Tetris. It will swallow a standard-size carry-on, but only just, and it won’t be sitting cleanly.

To riff on another modern classic: I don’t go to this school, but I just have a lot of feelings. (If the school is F-Type ownership. Let me have this.)

The 2024 F-Type is the final evolution of a remarkable feline species, and arguably the best one for it. The car isn’t merely a support structure for that mesmerizing engine: there’s a cohesive pairing of muscle and manners here. I know a Porsche 911 is a better all-rounder at this elevated price, and more likely to maintain its monetary value in the long run, too.

Yet I’m still sad to say goodbye to the F-Type, an anachronism that defies logic, that worms its way into your heart thanks to its own outsized one. And I’m happy it exists—especially happy that Jaguar kept it alive for so long. We won’t see another like it again.

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