Brainless Brawn: Celebrating the vulgarity of Dodge’s end-of-the-line Hellcat Jailbreaks

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If the base Challenger thinks that pickles grow that way, the Hellcat thinks they’re an entire food group. 

Quite plainly, Dodge Hellcats are dumb. Big, loud, and thirsty, these middle fingers to the emissions age embody the rebellious spirit that Mopar fans hold so dear. 

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Of course, rebellion is nothing without pearl-clutching opposition, and even among automotive media, there’s been plenty of hand-wringing about the Hellcats’ place in modern, civilized society. The planet is burning, they reasonably point out, and we shouldn’t be continuing our uncritical praise of such a flippant symbol of ecological excess. 

But hear me out: fated to their final year, it’s about time that even the most cynical among us take a moment to celebrate the joyous stupidity of these LX monsters’ moment. Swallow your sour-grapes principle, outraged Twitterverse, and let’s enjoy this final breath for what it is.

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Rather like a 48-pack of Coors Light, the Hellcat is a car for people who don’t need much — just a lot of it. 

Quoting 807 horsepower and 707 pound-feet of torque, the 6.2L V8 delivers plenty more power than the rear wheels can make effective use of. Even with a limited-slip 3.09 diff and 11-inch rubbers at the back, the Hellcat regularly struggles to apply its might to maximum effect. 

Such tire-smoking excess regularly draws the ire of the conscientious, who object to the arguably dangerous, unmanageable accelerative ferocity to which Hellcats subject our unsuspecting streets and road users. Where even a critical commentator might rationalize a Ferrari’s excess for the breath of its strengths and advancement of the industry, the Hellcat’s singularly violent, dullardly imposition upon society offers its detractors few mitigating factors. Tailored for little more than turning straights into drag strips, its antisocial clamour, trucklike consumption, and trying underfoot volatility aren’t exactly advancing technological trickle-down or practical motoring for the masses. 

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Dull as a sledge as it is in so many respects, all of this must be understood against the context of one degree of medical precision. From first stab, the supercharger’s straight-cut gears and twin screws rapidly drill through a driver’s prefrontal cortex. A painless (indeed comfortable) process for all anatomy but the wallet, this process effectively lobotomizes any moderating instinct or impulse control, opening the operator to an incessant, opportunistic pursuit of its ferocious, thirsting whinny. Sure it’s uncouth, but it’s medical, you see.

This sort of post-demonic possession will carry a driver to 100 km/h in under four seconds — and repeatedly, from light to light to light. Focused at the strip, a factory line lock function even enables tire-heating burnouts to optimum traction (or plain theatrics). Keep on it too long of course, and fuel consumption will spike from high-15s to ballpark-30s per hundred — the discovery of which should startle the right foot into some degree of mercy. 

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That is unconscionable consumption of a limited resource — and one that we still oughtn’t frenzy ourselves into projecting onto every kilometre of a Jailbreak’s life. Just because it can doesn’t mean that it always will, and once those first-day jollies yield to the sobering sight of a literal wave from the fuel gauge, it’s safe to assume that most drivers will dial back toward NRCAN’s estimated 18.6 L/100 km city, 11.3 highway, and 15.3 combined ratings (at least between onlooker demonstrations). 

Likewise, it’s worth acknowledging that modern muscle burns a whole lot cleaner than the engines of even 20 years ago. A forced-induction 6.2 is still going to emit a lot of carbon, but today’s efficient combustion and scrubby catalytic converters slash the yuckies to a fraction of what the rich-tuned Holleys in a collector’s 1971 Challenger 426 stablemate are chuffing out. 

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As a car, the Challenger is admittedly far from exceptional. As I have written in the past, it is entirely usable, and indeed enjoyable as a novel, comfortable everyday driver — particularly in the $40,000 range of the GT models. That said, whichever model you choose, the cabin experience remains that of a $50,000 Chrysler. The Jailbreak opens the door to nice options like your choice of colour combos, along with the upgraded suede steering wheel and pleasantly soft, bolstered leather seats. But the drive selector (auto-only on the Redeye and up) and simple centre console are far from the most inspired you will find at over $120,000, as is pictured here. 

Dynamically, while the Widebody and Track Packs help to stiffen and stabilize the two-ton monster, it’s still a matter of considered compromise. Ease off and you can carve; straighten out and you can brake. Accelerating while steering, however, is as risky as telling a powerlifter that those injections might be bringing an unexpected side effect. You can try winding either one up, but you will likely find yourself sore and bruised.

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Of course, you don’t buy a Hellcat for its plush interior or elaborate infotainment experience, or even because it can kinda corner now — you buy it because vroom vroom, car go fayust. 

So fast. Faster than it actually goes, in fact. Traction be damned, the Hellcat Jailbreak feels bounds quicker than its stated sub-whatever-second acceleration. The overwhelming sensory feedback — the auditory trifecta of induction, supercharger, and exhaust noises — stimulates drivers, passengers and onlookers alike. Chirpy wiggles from the rear end as the drive wheels slip may technically slow the vehicle’s acceleration off the line, but any such loss is offset by a reciprocally increased perception of speed. It is as though the slower the Challenger goes, the faster you will think it went.

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It’s rare for me to spend a full 24 hours of a test week behind the wheel of a car, but this is one standout that I couldn’t get enough of. Our Peter Bleakney has covered these characteristics and more in his futuretrospective review, but the takeaway is that the Challenger Hellcat jailbreak offers a screaming sort of experience that is almost without precedent in the first-party market, and is likewise surely the last that everyday consumers will be able to bring home from a dealership. 

Is the Hellcat a menace on our pearl-clutching streets? Probably — but surely no more than the abundant Brampton-area Challenger 5.7, Scat Pack, and even GT V6 drivers who have pulled up, intimated a desire to race, and then sped off ahead of me in what barely holds to a straight line. Those dyno stats are plainly frightening, and it’s hard to imagine anyone with such potential at their feet driving with consistent grace. Still, like a bird-slashing kitten roaming the neighbourhood, it’s hard not to feel an instinctive warmth toward the local problem child — no matter its cost to the local fauna. 

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Impossible to run quietly, drivers running a Hellcat in polite company can expect to feel like a drunken uncle pulling up to the family funeral in assless leathers and a clapped, straight-piped El Camino — regardless of how featherlite their foot. Opting for the black key on black-tie days hypothetically dials things back a little by limiting to 500 horsepower, but that’s still a metric buttload. It’s just rude. 

Yes, these cars are going to burn buttloads of hydrocarbons in those moments of enthusiasts’ combustive ecstasy. No, their cumulative impact will not measure a fraction of the emissions from the roughly 50-100 times as many F-150s built annually. 

Of course, all of this assumes that these cars are even going to be driven. A token hurrah, $100k Hellcat Widebodies are inherently limited as is, and Jailbreaks will prove still-more collectible right off the lot. Acknowledging the gulf between fleet-pickup-driving fan and actual monied shopper demographics, this is the sort of vehicle you’ll be more likely to see listed on BaT with delivery miles than actually rolling up the odometer on regular roads. 

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With some inevitable exceptions, it seems safe for the hand-wringers to expect buyers to be slightly more measured in their serving of beans than the typical crackle-tuned $35k LiveLeak Mustang driver. At $120,000 new and surely $150,000 before long at auction, the opportunity cost of stuffing one of these into a pole is just so much steeper. 

That reality will loom large. The 807-horsepower Jailbreak is the end of the line for the Hellcat, and indeed for the Challenger and Charger lineage as we know it. The Brampton, Ontario assembly plant that brings these profanities to life is now just over a year away from retooling for Stellantis’ EV production. With that reorientation, the Mopar muscle car — at least in the shape we have known and loved it — has met its end.

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Environmentally conscious driving enthusiasts are sure to delight in what comes next. As Driving’s David Booth has elucidated, the obscene horsepower and torque made possible by electric platforms is perhaps muscle at its truest; their weight and associated unwieldy handling characteristics thus far matches the classic muscle spirit through and through. Dodge is even poised to deliver muscle EVs with actual noise generators, and that new journey is sure to deliver a thrill all its own. 

I’ve had the opportunity to drive some special vehicles within and outside this career, and for all that this diverges from my typically ~refined~ sensibilities, the Jailbreak stands tall. The Hellcat is more a monument to a world that once was than a practical implement, and just as mused in Peter’s piece, it’s a one that I expect to someday wax to incredulous youths about. When I was your age, we were startling pedestrians uphill both ways — you get the picture. 

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All limited-production, limited-mileage rationalization aside, the Hellcat is rare and refreshing in its honesty of aim and execution. The Jailbreak isn’t grr — it’s glee. It’s unpretentious in a literal rather than denigrative sense, just giddily earnest in its jovial, hedonistic playfulness. Its sounds and feelings are of no real use or function to anyone or anything else in the world — they merely channel joy for its own sake. Lord knows we could all do with a little more such levity. 

Dumb as a bag of staplers then, the Challenger is that child we’ll all remember for its insistence on jamming the square block through the round hole. Perhaps concerningly, granted, the Jailbreak is now brawny enough to press that square on through anyway.

Is that right? I’m not gonna be the one to tell it otherwise.

So, dear Twitter friends: let’s pipe down, get our dumb on, and enjoy the big hoss while we still can. Whether you’re into pickles or pearls, we’re all sure to take some cherished stories from the journey. It’s entirely obscene, and that’s exactly why we ought to indulge. 

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