The Strange but True Story of the Bricklin SV-1

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A transcript, cleaned up by AI and edited by a staffer, is below.

[Image: YouTube Screenshot]

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Transcript:

Truth is Stranger Than Fiction

Although Lord Byron coined the phrase, I first heard “truth is stranger than fiction” from a less cultured source: Judge Woody, during a courtroom exchange. Regardless, perhaps the strangest thing about truth is its ability to bend depending on the eyes of the beholder.

There’s something mesmerizing about this Canadian-built, plastic-bodied, gullwing-doored sports car that invites a closer look. This is the strange but true story of the Bricklin SV-1.

Malcolm Bricklin

In April 2019, at the New York International Auto Show, I skipped the flashy reveals and celebrity appearances to interview the founder of a car company that had gone bankrupt forty years earlier.

Malcolm Bricklin had already built a personal fortune through hardware stores and a scooter rental venture, eventually co-founding Subaru of America in 1968. His first product there, the tiny Subaru 360, weighed under 1,000 pounds and didn’t need to meet U.S. safety regulations. Consumer Reports savaged it as the most unsafe car on the market, nearly killing the fledgling company.

That experience taught Bricklin a valuable lesson: safety was becoming a growing concern among both regulators and consumers. He couldn’t understand why automakers insisted that safer cars had to be ugly. He set out to prove them wrong, vowing to build the safest car in the world—and make it beautiful.

The SV-1

In 1971, Bricklin launched his own company. Bruce Meyers, of dune buggy fame, built the initial prototype. By 1972, designer Herb Grasse and his team had created a production-ready design in record time. To save money, many parts were sourced off the shelf—famously including taillights borrowed from Grasse’s personal DeTomaso Pantera.

The car was named the SV-1, short for “Safety Vehicle One.” With sharp, futuristic lines, it looked a decade ahead of its time compared to most mid-’70s cars.

But the company still needed a place to build it. That place turned out to be Saint John, New Brunswick, where Premier Richard Hatfield hoped to attract new industry. The provincial government loaned millions to set up production, with body panels produced in nearby Minto.

Design and Safety

Engineering was handled by AVC Engineering under Grasse’s supervision. The SV-1 featured innovations that would later become commonplace: a built-in roll cage, reinforced side rails, side-impact door beams, and an enclosed fuel tank. Massive bumpers exceeded government crash standards, and even the gullwing doors were touted as a safety feature, reducing risk when exiting into traffic.

Another innovation was the body itself. Instead of conventional paint, the SV-1 used solid-color acrylic panels reinforced with fiberglass. These panels couldn’t rust, and scratches could be sanded out. The downside was limited color choices—five in total, including a questionable shade Bricklin himself called “vomit green,” officially named Safety Suntan.

American Motors Conflict

Initially, the SV-1 was to use AMC’s 360 cubic-inch V8. Bricklin invested millions engineering the car around it, but shortly before production, AMC backed out. Bricklin, known for criticizing suppliers in the press, wasn’t on their good side.

He confronted AMC president Bill Luneburg directly. Luneburg bluntly told him that every engine sold to Bricklin cost AMC a car sale during a boom market. Bricklin threatened to take his case to Washington as an antitrust conspiracy. Eventually, AMC agreed to supply 700 engines, enough to launch production in 1974.

Production Begins

In 1974, 772 SV-1s were built, mostly with AMC’s 360 V8 and automatic transmissions, though some had four-speed manuals. The interior borrowed parts from other manufacturers, but included unique touches like a rolling-numbers digital clock. Notably absent were ashtrays and lighters—Bricklin, a former smoker, thought smoking while driving was unsafe.

Problems Surface

The car was ambitious but flawed. Costs kept rising, pushing the price from an initial $4,000 target to nearly $7,500. The acrylic panels suffered quality issues, sometimes warping or cracking. The hydraulic gullwing doors took six seconds to open or close, leaving drivers soaked in the rain. If the hydraulics failed, owners had to wrestle the heavy doors manually.

In 1975, Bricklin switched to Ford’s Windsor 351 V8, but with just 175 horsepower, it lacked the punch of the earlier AMC engine.

Driving Impressions

Despite the reduced power, the SV-1 drove surprisingly well, with handling that rivaled contemporary Corvettes. Car and Driver even found it nearly as fast in a comparison test. Owners today often say the car performs better now, after years of careful restoration, than it did when new.

Financial Collapse

By 1975, the SV-1 cost nearly $10,000—more than a Corvette and close to Cadillac territory. Worker turnover in New Brunswick was high due to unemployment policies, raising costs further. Despite improvements, the company couldn’t stay afloat without constant government loans.

Eventually, Premier Hatfield pulled the plug, frustrated that the project overshadowed all his political work. In late 1975, Bricklin went bankrupt. Fewer than 3,000 cars were built, including a handful of 1976 models assembled from leftover parts.

Legacy

Bricklin later admitted he was too young and inexperienced to start a car company. Still, the SV-1 became the car he’s most remembered for, even more than his role in bringing Subaru to America.

He went on to import the Yugo in the 1980s and attempted to bring low-cost Chinese cars to the U.S. in the 2000s. More recently, he announced plans for an electric three-wheeler.

In New Brunswick, the car’s legacy is mixed. While the project consumed millions in taxpayer money, the SV-1 has since appeared on stamps, coins, and even inspired a stage musical.

It’s easy to mock failed automotive ventures, but starting a car company is brutally difficult. For all its flaws, the Bricklin SV-1 remains one of the most fascinating footnotes in automotive history—a strange but true story.