On paper, the new Honda Prelude is a terrible sports car. It's hard to think of more things they could have got wrong.

Brace yourself: A 2-litre petrol hybrid. A CVT. Front-wheel drive.

That's like trying to make a chocolate pudding out of kale, tofu, and Brussel sprouts.

Sure, the fuel economy is staggering - I averaged 5.4L/100km over a week-long loan. But the mere fact I'm talking about fuel economy this far into a sports car review proves something is terribly wrong.

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It gets worse when you park it next to the competition. It's roughly the same shape as the Toyota 86, but without rear-wheel drive. Or the Mazda MX-5, but without its manual gearbox or pencil-like weight.

And yet ... despite these glaring lapses in judgement, I can't bring myself to hate it. The weird chocolate pudding actually tastes delicious.

What is it?

"Prelude" is not a new nameplate (originally trademarked by Toyota, funnily enough, before they agreed to pass it to Honda). The first one arrived in 1978, with a choice of two cheery little four-cylinder engines.

It was the first Honda to come standard with a glass moonroof. Not VTEC. Not an F1-derived KERS setup. But a see-through panel so you could admire the stars at night.

To be fair, the Prelude was also a pioneer: it was the first four-cylinder car with power steering, and it helped introduce mechanical four-wheel steering and early ABS. But even by the final run in the late 1990s, power still came from a modest 2.2-litre engine.

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Which brings me to my first point in the new model's defence: the Prelude was never an aggressive track weapon. It was a cruiser. You were far more likely to see a Prelude dithering outside a golf club than wrapped around a tree at a car meet.

This new generation didn't even start life as a Prelude. Honda engineers were simply tasked with building a "new hybrid sports car for the EV age" (which sounds like an awful university essay prompt). But midway through development, they realised it looked, walked and quacked just like a Prelude.

There's only one trim available in Australia, priced at a non-negotiable $65,000 driveaway. Paint colours are free, though - so there's that.

What's it like to live with?

Cruising through town in Comfort or GT mode, you could easily convince yourself you're driving an Accord.

Which makes sense, because for its first five generations, the Prelude was literally built on the Accord platform. You sit lower, and the way the seats hug you is all very sporty, but otherwise, it's remarkably calm and quiet. You're almost surprised to hear the engine pipe up every so often.

It's quick, but never ferocious. 0-100 km/h takes 8.2 seconds - which, in modern EV times, is a small geological epoch. But you're never stamping your right foot in desperation either.

But arguably this Prelude is racier than any before it.

It even has the perfect numberplate. Photo: James Coleman.

From medium-to-close distance, you could mistake it for a Porsche. And the entire steering rack, front and rear suspension, and Brembo brakes are pulled directly from the fierce Civic Type-R. The result is something that handles with brilliant poise at any speed.

You get four drive modes - Comfort, GT, Sport and Individual - and pressing the big "S+" button in any of them forces the CVT to simulate an eight-speed box, so you can rifle through virtual gears using the steering wheel paddles. 

Unfortunately, much of the noise it makes at the same time is about as genuine as Kraftwerk.

Just in case you forgot what you were driving. Photo: James Coleman.

The verdict

There are plenty of red flags here. The only thing Honda could have done worse on paper was making it a single-cab diesel ute.

At $65,000, it's pricier than the Toyota GR86 and Subaru BRZ twins too, even if it undercuts heavyweights like the Ford Mustang and Nissan Z.

But it's also the best a Prelude has ever been - provided you remember what a Prelude actually is. The comfortable sports car. The stylish GT. It's for people who want the low-slung handling and sleek looks without always having to feel like they need to drive like they've stolen it. It's a type of car we'd forgotten can exist.

Fingers crossed a wild Type-R version is around the corner. But for now? We can be happy.