The 296 is not the Ferrari I imagined, and I’m happier for it

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I don’t recall much from age five, but I do remember my toy Ferrari F355. 

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I had never been inside one, but I had seen photos. Against a world of ‘modern’ ‘90s black plastics, the contrast of warm, natural-hued leather against the gleaming mechanical chrome of an H-gate called out to me. 

I remember a lot with this toy. Where I soundtracked all of my Hot Wheels play with the typical vroom, vrooom, I remember how my H-gated F355 drove with a vroom; clack, vroom; clack, vrooom. Sat in a square of sun burning through my parents’ bedroom window, I remember determinedly scratching at the Challenge livery and Sharpie-ing the roof to convert it to a Spider. 

This play, and the imagination that fuelled it, shaped many of my early notions of what a Ferrari should be. Now, as a sentimental young adult headed to drive the new 296 GTB, it only felt appropriate to slip it back into my pocket for the ride.  

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The 296 is not that Ferrari from my imagination. Its electronic controls don’t Feel in the ways that I typically seek, nor does its digital dash sweep with the physicality that I associate with the old cars’ machined character. It’s heavily digitized, impractically fast, and avowedly anti-nostalgic. Quite simply, I expected disappointment. 

And yet, as I found myself climbing switchbacks out of Maranello after already-surreal laps of the Fiorano test track, I was proven wrong in ways I hadn’t thought possible. 

The 296 GTB is a novel member of the Ferrari lineup. Positioned someplace perpendicular to the marque’s usual performance hierarchy, the model prioritizes unabashed enthusiast driving thrills over much all else. It’s a curious concept on paper, and a stimulating one in the carbon-woven flesh. 

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In the hills or on the track, the 296 feels faster than it is — a feat by any measure. Power comes from the marque’s first self-badged V6, a 120-degree ‘hot V’ that places a turbo atop each cylinder bank and the exhaust runners down the top centre. Plug-in hybridization steps the performance farther, such that both the Berlinetta and Spider turn 818 horsepower and 545 ft-lb of torque — good for 2.9-second acceleration and 330 km/h. Around town, Ferrari quotes 25 km of all-electric range, if you feel so inclined. 

It’s all good and quick, sure — but instead of punishing damping or hypercar focus, it’s playfully dynamic. Thanks to that abbreviated V6, the 296 is able to squeeze its hybrid unit within the same short-ish 2,600-mm wheelbase as the old V8-powered 360. And as it exhales from atop the engine, every frequency from the turbos’ whistling spool to the 8,500 rpm exhaust wail carries equally into the cabin. 

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With batteries mounted low behind the seats, the 296 GTB weighs in at a class-competitive 1,470 kg. Weight distribution is just shy of 60 per cent rear, which combines with RWD to render some delightfully unserious behaviours. And guided by gummy 245-width front tires, it does so entirely predictably — indeed, naturally.

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Despite the blasphemous digitization of every input — electronic pedals, electronic steering, electronic shifts — the 296 drives almost organically. Turn into a corner entirely too quickly, and it feels as though the car’s id catches a moment of sidewall hesitation, checks itself, and determines that no, we paid good money to have a good time and you’re going to have a good time. And just like that, you dive and carve as though understeer is but a Medusan myth. 

Notch the wheel-mounted Manettino clockwise, and the car gets progressively stiffer and snappier — but without too sharp of a bite. Driven with tempered enthusiasm, rear traction breaks progressively rather than instantly, while the fronts stay on whatever track the steering wheel has laid. 

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It may seem antithetical, but the 296 is fun because it feels safe. The car proves its competence quickly, and from this flows driver confidence — a key ingredient in squeezing thrills through those pedals. Even without extensive track experience, a decent driver can trust the car to deliver on what’s asked of it. 

Nervous-footed newbies can brake past turn-in, and steering rack force-sensing vectored ABS will dutifully tug the car to apex without tattling on the driver. Overtake across an undulating surface, and the tea-tray splitter and a rear diffuser uninterrupted by exhaust pipes combine to hold the car firmly to the pavement. And when you park in town, the spoiler disappears into the bodywork to preserve a tidier, more restrained visual presence than some of its more adolescent peers. 

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To be sure, it isn’t all ideal. The digital swipey-arrow interface is frustrating and makes CarPlay plainly unpleasant, and there’s a blunt smack of buffeting as you roll the windows down. There’s also the annoyance of PHEV politeness: for all that I appreciated the ability to roll 25 kilometres through a historic city centre without the disruptive sound of an engine, enthusiastic hand-twirling locals seemed disappointed by my chosen acoustic abstinence. 

While there’s plenty more cleverness worth noting, anyone just looking for hockey-card stats is missing the point. As one Ferrari engineer noted, if you’re just interested in how long you can run flat-out, “you’re not really driving.”

Whether it’s the grip-sensing 6-axis chassis monitoring or the snap-shifting DCT, the details seem less important than the sensory experience that they facilitate. Yes the power is smooth, but I won’t care about boost figures when I can so innately feel the very sound of those top-spooling turbos pressurizing my bloodstream. 

I remember a lot with that toy F355. And now, I remember feeling it pressed against my thigh as I carved switchbacks out of Maranello in a stellar descendent. Time may have carried beyond the Ferraris of my youthful imagination, but the 296 GTB and Assetto Fiorano demonstrate that Ferrari stands competently in the toy business. And these ones don’t even make you hum your own soundtrack.