Bentley just punched luxury in the face. The Supersports nameplate, once a Le Mans legend and more recently a straight-line monster, returns as the rowdiest Continental GT to ever roll out of Crewe. Forget all-wheel-drive comfort barges, this new limited-run GT is pure rear-wheel-drive ice-cold lunacy, built for those who think “grand tourer” should mean “drift missile in a Savile Row suit.”
At its heart is a new, angry 4.0-litre twin-turbo V8, honed and toughened for maximum violence: strengthened crankcase, uprated heads, bigger snails. The result? 657bhp, 800Nm, and zero hybrid fluff. Floor it and you’ll rip to 100km/h in a wild 3.7 seconds, with the speedo flicking toward 192mph if your courage holds out. This is the highest power density Bentley has ever wrung from an engine each V8 cylinder feels like it’s shotgunning Red Bull and petrol.
Bentley’s fearsome V8 channels all its fury through an eight-speed dual-clutch straight to the rear wheels. There’s an electronic limited-slip diff, an even wider rear track, recalibrated suspension, and torque vectoring galore engineered to make sure this brute corners with 1.3g of stick, slicing 30 percent quicker than a mere Conti GT. Each forged 22-inch wheel wears sticky Trofeo RS rubber, with carbon-ceramic brakes big enough to anchor a yacht.
Luxury takes a back seat ... literally. The rear seats are gone, audio gear and insulation stripped out, Akrapovič titanium pipe welded on. What’s left are two ribbed bucket seats, loads of carbon fiber, and enough noise reverberating through the cabin to frighten the polite ghosts haunting any old Bentley. It’s lighter by almost half a ton versus the ‘GT Speed,’ clocking in just under 2000kg.
Aerodynamics morph this brute into a finely tuned menace. Biggest-ever splitter, dive planes, blades, and a fixed rear spoiler whip 300kg more downforce than before. Every inch screams hooligan, not stately carriage.
Bentley gives drivers three modes: Touring for soft-damp luxury, Bentley for nimble throttle and chassis action, Sport for full-concentration aggression. And good luck keeping this beast subdued in anything other than Sport. Unleashed, the Supersports tears up its lane with the refined ferocity you just don’t expect from something with a badge better known for champagne flutes and lambswool rugs.
With just 500 lined up for production, the Supersports is pure ICE, pure attitude, and pure British wit hurling luxury, noise, and rear-driven chaos at every curve. It’s a savage resurrection of raw driving, for those brave enough to grip the wheel and let the back end sing. This new Supersports just wants to misbehave.
