From the June 2019 issue of Car and Driver.

"God, that thing is awful," said senior editor Tony Quiroga as he exited the 1993 Nissan Skyline GTS-25 he had just parked along Mulholland Highway above Malibu. "The exhaust just drones, I hate shifting with my left hand, and the petrified tires are terrible. Who would want this thing?"

Plenty of us, it seems. At least those of us who are parishioners at the Church of JDM. Even if it means dealing with right-hand drive, owner's manuals written in Japanese, and at least 25 years of wear and tear. That's JDM as in Japanese domestic market: vehicles built for over there that were never sold over here.

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To get a taste of what we've been missing stateside, we went to TopRank International Vehicle Importers in Cypress, California, a dealer that specializes in JDM vehicles. From TopRank's inventory, we selected the Skyline as well as a 1993 Toyota Mark II Tourer V and a 1992 Mazda Autozam AZ-1 micro sports car. In deference to the trio's age—and particularly that of their tires—we didn't subject them to our usual instrumented tests. And this isn't a comparison test. It is a chance to take three JDM survivors out for a romp, get a feel for the species, and check it for viability. At least from a financial perspective, these aren't far-fetched. TopRank listed both the Skyline and Mark II at $17,995 and the Autozam at $15,995, prices within the realm of possibility for middle-class mortals. Peak JDM idolatry, legal in the form of the R32-generation Nissan Skyline GT-R, starts at about $30,000 for a veteran showing battle scars. Low-mileage cream puffs can push well beyond that. Considering the library of GT-R hagiographies out there, it seemed reasonable to skip Godzilla this time.

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Any three cars can teach 3000 things. As exemplars of early 1990s JDM culture, the GTS-25, Mark II, and Autozam reveal why that period was brilliant in its own way: styling, engineering, and flat-out looniness. Contributor Scott Oldham dismissed Quiroga's tirade. "That's all stuff you can change," he said. And change it he has. Oldham was once the editor of Sport Compact Car, a magazine that mixed arcane JDM scripture with ads for aftermarket parts from HKS and GReddy. It was the bible of JDM worship. Or maybe it was just car porn. "Swap out the fart can, get new rubber, and that thing is fine," Oldham muttered in his native Jerseyese. "Damn fine."

The Skyline GTS-25 is the GT-R's stunt double. Built from the same unibody shell, it lacks its legendary brother's flared shoulders and all-wheel drive and is powered by a single-turbo 2.5-liter inline-six rated, back then, at 178 horsepower. Even now, the Skyline feels more powerful than that. Nissan fitted these cars with optional automatic transmissions, but this one came with a five-speed manual box. With its antiseptic lines and an interior that defines restraint, the Skyline nevertheless attracts attention. Mostly that attention is from parking valets who think it's a GT-R, but that's a sweet bennie because you aren't paying GT-R money. The problem is that, with more than 131,000 miles on the clock, the suspension bushings seem to have turned to dust, the travel in that suspension is nigh on zilch, and the 235/45R-17 Capitol Negotiator tires have yet to achieve détente with any road surface. This thing slides its hind end like a curling stone. Still, minimalist Japanese design peaked about the time this car was built, and we could use it back.

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In contrast, the rear-drive Mark II is restrained to the point of anonymity. But what it has going for it is Toyota's creamy 1JZ-GTE engine, a 2.5-liter version of the twin-turbo 3.0-liter 2JZ-GTE used in the fourth-generation Supra. A gentlemen's agreement among the Japanese manufacturers capped engine output at 276 horsepower (280 metric horsepower) from 1988 to 2004, at least on paper. It is no secret that most vehicles advertising 276 horsepower, such as the Mark II, actually pack more ponies. While the 1JZ may not be as famous as the 2JZ, it produces an amazonian river of torque. The claimed 268 pound-feet of peak torque comes on so seamlessly, it feels as if the car has been dropped out of a C-130 and is accelerating with the force of gravity. This is Toyota engineering at its finest, an engine that may be more at home in the 21st century than it was in the previous one.

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The big four-door Mark II is the Cressida that could have been. With less than 27,000 miles showing on its odometer and upholstered in Toyota-spec blue fuzz, this example is a time capsule of mechanical virtue and boring-as-hell design. It's a Triple Lindy into the rabbit hole, a car for a nerd of the nerdiest sort, but that's kind of the point for some people. Left-hand shifting can be disconcerting, but we managed to move both the Skyline and Mark II easily through their changes.

The Autozam AZ-1 is not made for America's wide-open spaces. At a mere 129.7 inches long overall, it's more than two feet shorter than a current Mazda Miata. Its 88.0-inch wheelbase is three inches shorter than former NBA center Manute Bol is tall, and larger drivers will need Dr. Pimple Popper to extract them as if they were sebaceous cysts. But the engine is behind the driver and the gullwing doors open skyward. It's a shrunken-head DeLorean DMC-12.

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Power for the AZ-1 comes from a mid-mounted Suzuki-made turbocharged DOHC inline-three that wheezes out 63 horsepower and, despite the turbo, wants lots of revs to make it go in any meaningful way. But since the AZ-1 weighs just 1600 pounds, it's still ludicrously entertaining. Running at sky-high rpm, banging into the 9000-rpm redline, and feeling the whole car vibrate is like driving a leaf blower. On California's 405 freeway, it looks as much like a Botts' Dot as an actual vehicle. The ride is choppy; there's power nothing; the expansive use of glass for the windshield, doors, and roof panels means the cockpit heats up ferociously; it feels as if the front wheel bearings are stitched to the driver's fingers; and every part of the driver's body presses against some part of the car.

It's unlike anything ever sold in the United States that didn't come with a remote control. It's everything modern cars aren't—and that makes it delicious. As noted, this isn't a comparison test, but the dorky AZ-1 does the best job of justifying its importation and the hassle of sustaining an archaic car with a parts network that stretches across the Pacific Ocean.

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Japan's carmakers were still on the rise when this trio was designed and built, and it showed in their cars. Compared with the crap that American car companies were selling—the Chevrolet Cavalier, Dodge Shadow, and Ford Tempo come immediately to mind—Japanese cars were truly better. But 25 years is a long time.

Those of us who grew up worshiping these cars from afar may have that faith shaken upon encountering them up close as adults. At first the Toyota and Nissan seemed interesting, different, and even a little weird, but after we had been around them a few hours, we found them somewhat mundane. After all, in Japan they were ordinary things, driven by ordinary people—the novelty wears off.

Despite its tininess, or perhaps because of it, the Autozam AZ-1 captivated us the most. And if you're going to get something that has never been sold over here, why not get something unlike anything that's ever been sold over here?

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