I’ve been on the lookout for a first generation Debonair ever since I landed in this country back in 2019, and I’ve seen a few, occasionally. But most times, I was either unable to catch up with them and take even a single pic, or just managed a couple. It was frustrating, as Mitsubishi built these for over two decades and I figured there should be a few around. But it turns out the O.G. of the big Mitsus was always a niche within a niche, so finding one took a while – and it wasn’t the model specimen I would have liked, either. The better being the enemy of the good, I decided to roll with it.
Actually, the car did get better. I photographed it extensively twice and the first time it had spats and no wheelcovers, two attributes that were no longer present when it showed up again a couple months later.
So what is the Debonair and why have I been hankering over finding one for so long? Well, just look at it! It’s a Lincoln Continental that went on a seaweed and fish diet.
The person acknowledged to have created the car was Hans Bretzner, an Austrian-born designer who had worked for General Motors. He was hired by Mitsubishi in 1961 specifically to oversee the Debonair project, and he sure did a terrific job.
The genesis of the whole project takes us back to the late ‘50s. Japan’s burgeoning automotive sector was growing by leaps and bounds, including towards the design and production of large (which in Japan meant just below 2000cc) executive cars. Toyota, Prince and Nissan were part of the very first wave, but the likes of Mitsubishi and Isuzu weren’t far behind.
Mitsubishi initially thought they might do a licensing deal to save themselves a lot of time and trouble. They approached Fiat, as the idea was to manufacture a JDM version of the 1800/2100 saloon. For whatever reason, this ploy failed and Mitsubishi figured they might as well bite the bullet and go for a clean-sheet design. The only major imperative was to launch it in time for the 1964 Tokyo Olympic Games.
The timeline was good enough: the Debonair was launched in July 1964, three months before the Olympiads. But while the tourists and dignitaries were ferried about in shiny new Toyota Crowns, Prince Glorias and Nissan Cedrics, only a handful of folks who worked for various branches of Mitsubishi Heavy Industries could be seen in new Debonair.
Mitsubishi had aimed the car beyond its immediate rivals by only giving it a 6-cyl. engine (105hp, 1991cc) and not providing a fleet/taxi variant. Other than its new engine and its unit body construction, the car was pretty bog-standard for its time. Sophistication was not the point: it was meant to be dignified and exclusive, something reserved for an élite.
Essentially, the Debonair became the first of the Japanese CEO-mobiles, a step above the Crowns and Cedrics available to the common people. And it was soon joined in that stratosphere by the Nissan President in 1965 and the Toyota Century in 1967. But here’s the nub: those cars deliberately went over the 2-litre / 170cm width size limit. Mitsubishi had designed their super-exclusive saloon to fit in the same box as the Crown and the Cedric, but were completely outgunned by the V8-powered barges Nissan and Toyota fought back with.
The Debonair, as a result, was a bit of an oddity. It did not help matters that it was styled like an early ‘60s car, launched in the mid-‘60s and never truly refreshed. The boomerang taillights did go away in 1973 (along with the front window vents), replaced by this more expansive and linear arrangement. That was to be the most extensive facelift Mitsubishi ever did on the car.
In a way, that was highly commendable, as ‘70s/’80s facelifts of early ‘60s designs were usually pretty dire (Argentinian Ford Falcon, anyone?), though Toyota managed it pretty skillfully with the aforementioned Century (1967-97). But the Century was designed to age gracefully, whereas the Debonair started showing its wrinkles very quickly.
Japanese enthusiasts, from the late ‘70s onwards, called it the coelacanth. And it wasn’t said endearingly. But imagine what they would have said if Mitsubishi had managed to get the Fiat 1800/2100 instead…
A new OHC 2-litre six arrived in 1970, pushing the output up to 130hp, but it was replaced six years later by the 2.6 litre “Astron” 4-cyl. producing 120hp; the Borg-Warner 35 automatic became the Debonair’s default transmission. Also in 1976, the door handles became flat, but very little else was done until production was halted in the summer of 1986.
Well, that’s what was in those cars when they came off the line. Our CC, on the other hand, was given a full motor-ectomy and is powered by a 2.5-litre Toyota mill from around 2005. Ah well… Probably far more power and fewer maintenance headaches. That can be forgiven.
Those spats, on the other hand… At least, they’re now a thing of the past. There are still a number of nits to be picked on this car, but the worst offender was dealt with.
There are obviously a few things wrong with this picture. Number one being my stupid smartphone, which was fogging up (it was on its last legs). Next is the steering column and that goofy gear selector.
Most Debonairs, not unlike other high-end JDM saloons, were usually upholstered with cloth. Every once in a while, someone ticked the box for leather seats. Possibly, this is one of those rare occasions. But then, this car’s had a few add-ons, as we’ve ascertained.
With 21,703 units made in 22 years (including three convertible parade cars), the first-generation Debonair was not exactly a runaway success. In its time, the Debonair was kind of shunned by enthusiasts and its intended clientele. It soon became evident that being ferried in one of these was a sign that you were employed by some tentacle of the Mitsubishi kraken. Why else would you even consider getting one of these? This was to be a perennial issue with Mitsubishi’s high-class JDM saloons, even after they had finally engineered a V8 for them.
Eventually though, the coelacanth turned into a coelacan: Japanese classic car enthusiasts started to look at the old Debonair as the ice-cool mini-Continental it always was, especially once they saw its gawky successor. Not for the last time, Mitsubishi failed to make a dent in a market niche they had correctly identified. But for once, the car itself was a true gem.
Related CC Reading
Curbside Classic: Mitsubishi Debonair (1964-1986) – Continental Lite, by Jim Brophy
This would have made a good 1967 Studebaker.
Had Canadian Motor Industries gone ahead and purchased the Studebaker Automotive Division from Studebaker Corporation, we would have had Studebaker-badge Isuzu Bellets.
It’s surprising it didn’t get replaced by the Aussie Valiant (actually imported from Australia) around 1972 or so. But then Mitsubishi also built their early ’50s style licensed Willys Jeeps for almost 20 years alongside the Pajero/Montero that logically would’ve replaced them.
I am firmly convinced Mitsu is cursed by the souls who perished by the Zero’s, much like Sarah Winchester and her rifles.
These really want to be black for maximum effect, but congratulations on finally nailing one down. Speaking of black, that black upholstery is jarring given the gold-brown color of the rest of the interior. It’s a bit hard to imagine it coming that way from the factory. And where are the lace seat-top things; these just scream for those.
Manual front and power rear windows?!
Keep in mind these were intended to be chauffeur driven and not even remotely considered for purchase by an everyday Japanese consumer. While theoretically available to the mass market, the social structure of Japan then meant that if one were to own a vehicle such as this, you had best be in the absolute top tier of your workplace hierarchy as it would be found socially unacceptable to own a vehicle of higher ‘status’ than one’s workplace superiors, closely followed by your perceived stature to greater society at large. The lack of power for the front windows speaks directly to this; as a servant, you hadn’t earned the luxury of using a switch…
Those are aftermarket power window winders; the motor is inside the plastic box and turns the original winder spindle. Used to see them in accessory catalogues in the 1980s. Factory Debonair power windows have a button higher up the door trim:
Looks a “mid 60’s”, ride with sidelights screwed on.
I presume the basic design of the Mitsubishi Debonair might have inspired Chrysler Brazil for the big facelift of the Simca Chambord into the Simca Esplanada. https://www.curbsideclassic.com/automotive-histories/automotive-history-simca-chambord-brazils-first-v8-from-flathead-to-hemihead/ The design of the A and C-pillars are a bit more or less similair.
This is quite a find! It really does resemble a baby Lincoln Continental, especially from the rear 3/4 view. Those quadruple taillights are a bit much, but it does evoke the look of the 1969 Mercury Marauder X-100. I prefer the earlier boomerang taillights..
From the straight-on front view, it looks more like a Soviet design.
Brought the 1965-’66 AMC Rambler Ambassador to mind, Continental-inspired styling, luxury within modest dimensions.
Looks like an A I Valiant
‘Coelacanth’ is certainly an apt description! The styling has never gelled for me; everything seems slightly out of proportion and out of scale. In profile the Deb reminds me very strongly of the 1965/66 ‘HD’ and ‘HR’ Holdens. HR pictured for reference. Even though they’re not my cup of tea, you’ve captured the best one I’ve seen T87 – the pinstripes and wheel covers suit it very well!.