It’s time to get controversial. The Griffith is the greatest car ever built by TVR. It might not be the fastest, nor is it the best to drive, but it did more to put the Blackpool company on the map than anything that preceded it. Heart of the Griffith’s appeal is its beautiful styling, which is gorgeously curvaceous and yet pure in its minimalism – quite simply, it’s the best-looking and most elegantly resolved British post-war sports car of them all.
 
That beauty extends to the interior, which is dominated by a swooping dashboard and simple ergonomics (see over the page). The switches were made by TVR and not lifted from any major manufacturer’s parts bin. And the devilishly simple two-piece hood comprises a folding rear section and a targa panel, and takes seconds to fold down.
 
Fine details, too, abound in the Griffith. The doors don’t have handles: they’re opened by stylish chrome lifters and the mechanisms are stashed in the rear quarter panels so they don’t rattle. The front and rear lights are nothing special, but because they’re mounted behind clear Perspex they form part of an organic whole. Even the CitroΫn CX door mirrors look as if they were purpose-designed, rather than afterthoughts.
 
When it was first revealed at the 1990 Birmingham Motor Show, TVR took 350 orders for the Griffith, even though it was at least a year away from production. Despite being a product of the 1990s, it didn’t rely on any new technology – the chassis was tubular steel, as used in the Tuscan Challenge racer; the body was glassfibre; and the engine was the ex-Rover V8 in either 4.0- or 4.3-litre form, mounted a long way back in the nose.  It took what TVR had been doing for years and made it perfect.

When something looks so right, there’s always a danger that the driving experience can be a letdown. Not in this case – it’s a hairy-chested beast that demands concentration from the driver. The steering is weighty but accurate (and far better if unassisted), and the throttle has a long travel and metes out power progressively. Get it right, and you can dance a Griffith with your right foot; get it wrong and you’re in the scenery. This one bites back.

It’s a similar experience in the Chimaera. The Griffith’s sister car was supposed to be a softer companion, blessed with a larger boot and interior. But underneath its more restrained styling, the 1992 car shared the same chassis and engine choices. And the same challenging handling.