Land Rover Defender 110 S 2020 first drive

A 911 has always been a sports car, the Civic always a family runabout. But I think the Defender has changed. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s just a thing. We can discuss its looks – I will as we go on – but the trouble with assessing design is not that you and I think differently, but that as familiarity sets in, even our respective views change. I already feel differently from how I did when I saw this car last year, for better and worse.

The hardware, then, is where objectivity lies. Underneath the body, with its bluff back end, reassuringly familiar side-opening tailgate and three- and five-door variants badged 90 and 110, sits a derivative of Jaguar Land Rover’s big aluminium D7 architecture.

Don’t think that means it’s overtly based on something else: the platform has a suffix for different models, so a Jaguar XE is a D7a and a Range Rover is a D7u and even a Jaguar I-Pace is D7e. But it means there are shared modules and crash structures and, notably, commonality in the expensive bit between the front axle and the dashboard.

But the new Defender’s aluminium shell, in all of the body-in-white and not just the outer panels, is unique to this car. It sits higher than on any other Land Rover, too.

Attached to the bonded and riveted shell are steel subframes front and rear, with independent suspension all round – wishbones at the front, integral link at the back. No, it doesn’t have a separate steel chassis any more and nor is there a solid axle to be seen, as you’ll still find front and rear on a Wrangler and beneath the back of a Land Cruiser, G-Class and every pick-up. But Land Rover claims a 29kNm/ deg torsional stiffness, a 900kg maximum payload and a towing limit of 3500kg (3700kg in the US).

The Defender sets a good first impression on cushioning the blow. There are traditional Defender cues – a big slab of dashboard with a grab handle at either end, with the instruments in their own little binnacle. The steering wheel is huge, driving position high, seats large (that’s new) and visibility good (that’s not new). You can see where the car ends, where its sides are, and the door mirrors are big, too. As well they might be: while the old Defender was as narrow as a Ford Fiesta and as long as a Ford Focus, this new model is 2105mm wide across its mirrors and 5018mm long, including the spare wheel – a luxury car footprint with Land Rover’s longest wheelbase, at 3022mm. The 90 is half a metre shorter in both wheelbase and length.

Interior materials feel good, albeit this is a higher-spec car. There are some exposed structural elements and Torx-head bolts to enhance the adventurous feel; although that’s better achieved by the amount of storage space and charge outlets the Defender brings you, which, as you’ll know if a lot of you are travelling for a long time, is what really matters. And there’s a new infotainment system. Touchscreen, yes, but it’s good. No, I mean it. For the first time in a Land Rover, it’s genuinely quick, clear and confident.

You can have two or two-and-a-bit seats in the front, with a middle jump seat you’d use to get a lift home from the pub but for no longer than that. There are three seats in the rear with massive head and leg room – the top window is a nice touch but no more than a distant porthole – and you can spec two seats in the spacious boot (although not with the jump seat). The boot, at 916 litres to 2233 litres with the second row folded, is cavernous, and although you’d probably get a wider access hatch if the tailgate lifted, rather than swung sideways, remember it’s a Defender.

The control weights are not traditional Defender. They’re light, positive, progressive and, as we mooch out into the countryside, it feels easy and laid back. I think that’s important in a car that claims to be so capable; a Land Cruiser manages it in similar fashion. If you’re going to spend a long time in one of these, in abnormal road conditions, you’ll want a car that’s ergonomically easy to rub along with. You can make a case on a car’s various ultimate off-road credentials (and see the hard numbers, above left) but reducing fatigue counts.

The ride feels easy, too, on big empty roads where it lopes along with plenty of breath in its lungs. The steering doesn’t tell you much or self-centre greatly but it’s accurate and stability is good.

A few caveats: we’re largely on rough roads – a brief stretch on asphalt suggests the Defender is an engaging road drive too. The steering gains weight and response as forces build, the ride’s composed, pliant, but with tight body control and well-contained roll. And we’re on knobbly tyres rather than more road-biased ones. Also, there’s a roof rack and ladder and a bunch of kit on top of the car, which probably doesn’t help dynamics, so I’m impressed that the Defender feels so sure-footed.

The reason for the tyres and the kit, of course, is the terrain. Namibia has all of it. In places, it’s rocky, with oodles of small loose stones or big solid ones, but all able to snag a tyre sidewall. And at times, it’s sandy, dune-like or more solid or in a riverbed, which when we drive through is flooded with sufficient water to make for a tough wading test, with thick mud beneath. Bar slippery grass, which will be the standard UK test, Namibia has got everything. What I do like about the Defender’s design is how it interacts with its surroundings. The drag coefficient is a reasonable Cd 0.38 but there’s still been the chance to leave little shelves around the lights that attract and trap dirt and dust; an old Defender does the same and it’s something that would be annoying on a BMW 3 Series but works nicely here.

How well the Defender’s appearance will otherwise mature I don’t know, but following one today, it’s novel and largely avoids caricature. In essence, Land Rover admits it gives Discovery 4 owners a car to move on to, but in design terms, there are also shades of first-generation Freelander about its stance when you see it moving.

The Defender is equal to whatever terrain we put its way. It’s hard to say how much better or worse than the key rivals it is (even when we do conduct back-to-back testing in the UK, we’ll find muddy ground can change as we drive over it, making exact replication hard). But the raw numbers are strong, particularly with the suspension on its highest setting. And with the gearbox in low ratio, both the diesel but more so the petrol have decent urge. The diesel can get a little bogged as you try to keep momentum along soft riverbeds (it is a 2248kg car) and, with no separate chassis, there are no slide rails at the back, but the rear overhang is short, the floor flat, and the front bumper and skid plate the lowest part of the car – so if you clear objects with those, it should clear all the way along.

What’s striking, though, and unusual, is how easy the Defender tries to make all of this crawling and wading. In a Wrangler, it feels like off-roading is how you challenge yourself, as you choose to lock the differentials and disconnect the anti-roll bars via cabin switches. Wranglers are incredibly capable, and I love them for it, partly because they make off-roading feel like a hobby.

The Defender tries not to make it a chore. As standard on the models you can spec at the moment is the Terrain Response system that manipulates suspension, differentials, brakes, traction control and more on the go. It also has 360deg cameras, including a through-bonnet one showing the front wheels, and even a wade sensor that tells you when you’re approaching its 900mm depth limit – in case water approaching the windows doesn’t let you know.

That means you have to get out of the car less, fiddle with buttons less, poke a stick into a stream less, and stay comfortable and at the right temperature more. Tick a couple of boxes and fit the right towbar and it’ll even tell you how much weight is on the towball and run a trailer tail-light check without you having to leave your seat.