No, there wasn’t a “de Sade package.” (A worn-out joke? Yes  for old times’ sake.)

If you want a sunroof, bring a can opener. Bluetooth? MP3? GPS? Those are technologies from a whole other century than the one for which the Grand Marquis was designed.

Since Ford isn’t keeping any Grand Marquis in its fleet of test cars, I rented one from Hertz at the Los Angeles airport. Rental prices vary insanely, sometimes within the space of a few hours or over the term of a single loan. My rate ran just $38 a day after a midloan renegotiation dropped the price down from more than $100 a day. Go figure.

With its bolt-upright cabin and long par-5 decklid, the Grand Marquis’s basic styling looked old even when it was new way back in 1992. And much of the car’s engineering dates back to the 1970s, not to mention a basic chassis design from 1965. Much of the car feels old. Opening the doors reveals power locks that operate with crude suddenness and black plastic handles that feel cheap to the touch. The doors shut with a hollow, metallic thud, but seal tightly. After two decades of production, Ford knows how to assemble the Grand Marquis, but sophistication isn’t part of the deal.

Inside, the front and rear bench seats are covered in leather so plasticized that you don’t recognize it as leather. The front bench is split with foldable armrests at the center, but it lacks any discernibly supportive shape. You don’t so much sit in this seat as slide in atop it and hope the seat belts keep you from skidding around. It’s impossible to find a comfortable conventional seating position.

The back seat, on the other hand, is so squishy-soft that you almost feel you’re drowning in it. The space for legs is ample, but the Grand Marquis doesn’t have the sort of rear stretch-out room you expect from a car so vast.