by Connor Parks
2005 Suzuki Verona LX (owned by Oliver Levi)
To most, what you see here is a very basic looking car, and just that. To car fans (in the US, at least), it’s a curiosity. It checks all the boxes for something that should exist, some generic economic sedan that should’ve been sold between about 2000 and 2010, and yet… what is this thing? Take a look around and you’ll see features from a myriad of carmakers, before you approach the front and see an indicative, big, serif-ed S badge. Suzuki… but this can’t possibly be that, can it? When is a Suzuki not a Suzuki at all… or anything even close?
The Verona, then, is a little bit of an anomaly. A quick backstory: in 2002, Chevrolet bought out the automotive division of Korean tech conglomerate Daewoo, which meant that Daewoo would manufacture cars which would be globally branded as Chevys. In the US, Daewoo stopped selling their own poorly-selling cars after the buyout, but Chevrolet knew that they couldn’t succeed in marketing their newfound assets as Chevrolets due to market saturation (too many big “American” sedans) and poor Daewoo sales. Thus began an unlikely multiyear partnership between Chevy and Suzuki, who was already selling cars fairly successfully in the states through a long-running partnership with Toyota. Over a number of years in the mid-2000s, Chevy took a number of Daewoo-manufactured models (the Magnus, the Lacetti, etc), and had Suzuki sell them in the US under their own names (the Verona, the Reno, and the Forenza, respectively) with meager success.
What this is, then, is something that began life as a Daewoo Magnus. A Korean car, bought out by an American company, and branded under a Japanese manufacturer to sell to an unconvinced public. And I love everything about it. Nobody knows what these things are, or even recognise that they existed in the first place. These are the kinds of cars I cherish the most, and it goes without saying that I couldn’t wait to see what it was like to drive and test out a car forgotten to time itself.
Oliver’s new-to-him Suzuki Verona has had a storied family history. The sedan was bought brand-new from Green’s Toyota in Lexington in 2005 by his aunt, a surgeon who later brought it to her practice in Kansas City. After a few years, she passed it down to Oliver’s mom’s mom back in central Kentucky, who’d had a terrible accident in her Toyota Corolla and wanted something comfortable to replace it. She drove it for a number of years before passing away, after which it was handed down to Oliver’s mom, who later sold it to Oliver’s dad’s mom, who passed it onto one of her grandkids. I’m just as confused as you are. In any case, said cousin recently offered it up to the Levis for sale, and they decided it would be a great first car for Oliver. And I fully agree: this is exactly the kind of ride you want a newer driver getting experience in as they move up in the world. Look at this thing. It is car. There’s absolutely nothing offensive or notable going on here with regards to styling, power, or quality: this rebadge of a rebadge was sold and marketed to comfortably blend in, no more, no less.
As a brand-new owner of the car, Oliver hasn’t even had the opportunity to get gas for it yet, but he’s found himself liking how it suits his lifestyle for the week that he’s had it. As far as specs go, I ran a comparison of the Verona with my family’s Toyota Camry of the same year, and came away with a few conclusions. The fake-luxury woodgrain trim on the door panels and dashboard is one of my favourite mid-2000s features that dates this thing so well. As a kid in my grandparents’ Avalon, I felt like a limousine passenger seeing faux oak on the center console, but now (in the Verona and Camry) it just fills me with nostalgia for a time when fake wood meant real pride. The leather seats are a little tight and stodgy, but generally pretty comfortable. I wouldn’t worry much about discomfort on longer trips, and it sits low enough to the road that the ride was consistently very smooth. There’s a combo sun/moonroof which leaks a little but generally gets the job done. All the windows came ridiculously over-tinted, an unfortunate modification by his cousin, but he’s begun the slow process of removing some of the invasive tint to actually be able to see outside the windows. In the rear, the trunk was sizable enough and included a huge styrofoam ring with tools inside, an interesting way of incorporating a toolkit.
The interior was fairly standard for the segment, with a few key takeaways. As with most semi-luxury sedans from the time, the driver’s seat, but not the passenger seat, had electrically adjustable seat controls. I also noted a lack of lumbar support adjustment I’ve found in other similar models from the time. There were 4 windshield wiper settings, a cruise control Oliver assured me he had no plans of using, a trunk-open button located confusingly on the door handle, and strong climate controls that got as high as 91 degrees. The audio system worked well, and the speakers were strong for the time. Front storage space was generally a little lacking, but wasn’t a major issue. The mirrors included some appreciated blindspot circles but were a tad small, something which could get annoying after a while. Finally, the engine was a little bit of a surprise: a non-traditional transverse (sideways-mounted) inline 6, developed by Porsche (!) and putting out enough power to speed into straight stretches, although uphill acceleration was definitely a negotiation.
Despite the general wear and tear you’d expect from a 20 year old family car, Oliver’s Verona has been fairly well maintained and is in decent shape. The most prevalent issue we encountered on the drive was a jarring shaking and rattling at anything over about 50 mph, the side effects of a horrendous tire misalignment. I knew it’d be an issue when he mentioned the misaligned steering wheel, but I had no idea it’d be as violent of a rumble as it was. Aside from this, other issues included slow shifting, various squeaks and chirps in the engine bay, a strong revving when parked, and the complete lack of parts on the used market. The drive, meanwhile, went about as expected: lenient braking, less get-up-and-go than the Camry, but decently strong on longer stretches. At the time of the review, the car only had 92,300 original miles, perhaps the lowest-mileage example still left anywhere.
Thus remains the age-old question: Is the Verona an objectively good car? I’d argue that yes, it is, although for reasons such as part availability and overall performance I’d much more suggest a same-generation Honda Accord, Mazda 6, or Toyota Camry if you’re married to that segment. Suzuki’s demise in the US is a tragic story, and I count myself lucky to have been one of maybe five people in the country to have driven a Verona on the day I did. For a decent car to fade into obscurity is always a sad sight, and I’m thankful there’s folks out there like Oliver’s entire family who remain committed to keeping boring but rare cars going; long after the market wishes they would’ve died out for good. As I floored the gas and punched the Verona up to a shaky 65 on the bypass, I kept asking myself who would’ve bought one of these new over a similar Infiniti, Lexus, or otherwise. Yet in time I came to realise that though this car received such little attention, it deserved every ounce that it got. It had its benefits then: comfort, reliability, and great pricing compared to competitors, and it maintains those to this day. So here’s to those forgotten: cars like the Suzuki Verona, lost to time and never to be relevant again. Their following may be small, but somewhere out there, there’s someone ensuring their legacies will never truly die.