The car fan

Physically and spiritually, the centerpiece of the Museum of Fine Arts' exhibit ''Speed, Style, and Beauty: Cars From the Ralph Lauren Collection" is the 1938 Bugatti Type 57SC Atlantic Coupe. Impossibly rare, insanely expensive (both originally and currently), and outrageously flamboyant, it defines Lauren's collecting aesthetic.

Only three were made, so marvel at its indecent proportions and unlivable ergonomics.

For most auto enthusiasts, that alone should make the show worth visiting: These are cars you've seen for years in books and magazines, in grainy period photos, and in films. There's a lot to be learned from seeing them in person.

After years of driving, restoring, and writing about cars, there's little in the automotive world to make my jaw drop. The hoary aphorisms about form following function and cars as ''rolling sculpture" -- all dutifully recited in yesterday's preview event by curator Darcy Kuronen and other museum officials -- made me fear the worst as I entered the exhibit.

But being close to cars I've known about for years gave me an opportunity to see them fresh.

Take the 1955 Mercedes-Benz 300SL Gullwing coupe. It has been an icon since the moment it appeared. But to view it on the short white riser at the MFA is to be amazed all over again at the audacious and ultimately impractical combination of racing frame and mechanicals combined with Grand Touring style and luxury.

With the famous doors lifted upward, you can see the wide, leather-swathed sill that caused women in skirts such embarrassment when they attempted to exit the car. (It was made necessary by the race car space-frame chassis underneath the sheet metal.)

Looking at the 1930 Mercedes-Benz SSK, you can almost forgive the hucksters who launched a thousand tacky knockoffs. The tail, with the skiff-shaped rear fenders and trunk trailing behind the car, inevitably sparks comparisons with the Batmobile. The look is emphasized by the enormous spats covering the rear wheels. The priceless Mercedes can pull it off, while fender skirts on an Oldsmobile are relentlessly cheesy. The overall lack of ornamentation puts added emphasis on the massive, upright chrome radiator, which remains the template for Mercedes grilles to this day.

Such lasting influence is found on many of the cars. The 1929 Blower Bentley, a large, unpretty, and unsuccessful race car, contributed to Bentley's subsequent acquisition by Rolls-Royce. Along with all the accoutrements of 1920s race-car design -- lots of louvers to let heat out of the engine compartment, leather straps to keep the hood from flying open at speed -- you'll notice the wire mesh grilles that cover the headlamps, radiator, and exposed carburetors. Suddenly it becomes clear why so many modern British cars with sporting aspirations -- Jaguar XJ-Rs, Bentley Continentals -- come with wire mesh grilles.

Despite a welcome lack of Ralph Lauren photos in the exhibit, there's a nagging feeling that this is very much Ralph's Collection. There's nothing resembling an actual production car available to commoners. Nothing to dilute the feeling of authentic, patrician nostalgia -- the feeling that Lauren strives so hard to project in his fashion ads. Few of the cars represent significant engineering advances that had an impact on the motoring public.

''Rather than collecting in a systematic way, Mr. Lauren has taken an individual approach, acquiring cars that appeal to his personal sense of aesthetics," says the catalog. So Lauren bought what Lauren likes, and what he likes tends to be rare, historic, and expensive. Does the average viewer benefit from seeing four racing Ferraris from an eight-year period? Obviously, Ralph was going through his Ferrari phase.

To see these cars up close is to also become aware of their failings. The design touch that separates the Bugatti Atlantic from all others is the raised, riveted seams that run atop each fender and the length of the roof and fastback. Seemingly razor-sharp, they give the Atlantic unmatchable menace.

In the catalog, you'll learn that the seams, essential for the prototype because it was made of an unweldable alloy, weren't necessary on the production car. Jean Bugatti, legendary designer and son of founder Ettore Bugatti, kept them because he liked them. Nice to know the Bugattis fell victim to the same temptations that led designers at General Motors to put non-functioning hood scoops on Camaros.

Not every car is a classic. The 1988 Porsche 959 is basically a 911 on steroids, with orthopedic assistance in the form of four-wheel-drive to cure the unmanageable handling inherent in the rear-engine design. Yes, it was super-fast and desirable. But is the 959 really the most worthy of all the umpteen 911 derivatives, offshoots, and descendants? It certainly isn't the prettiest, with crudely flared fenders blending into an ungainly rear spoiler.

The 1996 McLaren F1, another disappointment, sprang from the clichéd premise of making a road car that provides the closest thing possible to the real race car experience -- exciting in the prewar period, valid in the postwar period, but perhaps irrelevant by the mid-'90s. To this was added a goofy twist -- three-abreast seating with the driver in the center of the car. There's a reason the only other car to have a similar layout is the Matra Murena, a French oddball from the 1980s.

As to the McLaren's aesthetics, let's just say this is a design that won't be viewed kindly 20 years from now. The front end is cluttered and the aggressive side strakes look like nothing more than kid racer stripes, albeit stripes executed in exotic, lightweight carbon fiber.

Still, it's a reminder that the beauty of cars remains subjective, and even Ralph Lauren takes an occasional taste vacation.

Jeffrey Krasner can be reached at krasner@globe.com