The spartan cabin, finished in unrelenting black on my test car, was especially noteworthy: I believe it could be the first automotive interior styled entirely by an accounting department. The only minimum-security prison I have ever visited (honest, it was only to interview an inmate) had more luxurious appointments.  The seats are tolerable, but neither supportive nor particularly adjustable — there is no place else for them to go in the cramped cockpit. Plus-size drivers should shop elsewhere.  There is virtually no convenient storage — no handy place for a cellphone, no bin to hold coins, no storage in the enormous console, no cubbies or map pockets in the doors. But there is a slit along the door sill, long enough and wide enough for a package of Slim Jim jerky.  A package shelf under the hatchback rear window is only large enough to hold the bare essentials for a weekend getaway. But if you pop for the temporary fabric top to use when the removable panel has been left home (there’s no place onboard to stash the 31-pound targa panel), the package area is commandeered to store that. So plan your trips carefully, paying close attention to the weather forecast.  The power window controls are perfectly placed for someone with six-inch-long forearms; otherwise, use your elbows. The dashboard instruments are partly eclipsed by the adjustable steering wheel, regardless of its position. The gauge faces and the radio’s digital display panel can be difficult to read, but, hey, it’s only a problem during most daylight hours.  The shifter for the 5-speed manual transmission clanks like a tenement radiator in February. Wind and road noise with the top shut is intrusive enough to warrant constant checks that the windows are all the way up and doors aren’t flapping open.  The turbocharged Ecotec 2-liter 4-cylinder makes an industrial whine but it is capable of pushing this 3,018 pound package — that’s slightly more than the convertible, oddly enough — from zero to 60 m.p.h. in 5.2 seconds, according to Car and Driver magazine. The federal fuel economy rating is 19 miles a gallon in town and 28 on the highway with the 5-speed manual.  The suspension is tuned too soft for thrashing around during amateur hour at your local racetrack. Despite standard Bilstein monotube shock absorbers, there is a generous amount of bobbing and weaving on grip-challenged 18-inch Goodyears.  The stability control system can be turned off, but my advice is to avoid this — or be prepared for some anxious moments of oversteer in spirited driving. In normal driving — freeway cruising, errand-running and getting groceries (although there is little room for them) — the GXP coupe is generally quite pleasant and stable.  Despite its many faults, the shapely little coupe is a sexy attention-getter, another beauty designed by Franz von Holzhausen when he was a rising star at General Motors. (Mr. von Holzhausen subsequently left for Mazda and is now at Tesla.) Outward visibility is atrocious, but that’s the price of being so stylish. If you can’t live with that, buy an old Volvo wagon.  Creature discomforts aside, friends and family all wanted to ride in the coupe, the longer the trip the better. Beware of straying too far from home, though: Consumer Reports found the reliability record of the Solstice convertible and the similar Saturn Sky to be dismal.  So what sort of epitaph, if any, does the Solstice GXP coupe suggest for the once-mighty Pontiac nameplate? In many ways it is a rolling testament of G.M.’s shortsightedness: a pinch of pizazz, a dash of panache, all mixed into a package of unmet promise.  INSIDE TRACK: End of an era.
The new targa-top Solstice is the last of the Pontiacs, the final breath of a brand that failed to adapt to a changing world.