(FORTUNE Magazine) – Opening scene: somewhere in Beverly Hills on a warm, hazy summer day. The camera pans a stretch of boulevard; in the background, large, well-tended manses perch. In the foreground, a startling glint of red sheet metal appears--the new Bentley Arnage (named after the most challenging corner at Le Mans). The camera takes in the car's strong, flowing angles: first, the teardrop, chromed-edged rear light clusters and stately arching roofline. And then--the body part worth waiting for--the proud front end held high by the aggressive, crosshatched, stainless-steel grille, all gleaming and toothy looking. The trademark Bentley wingspan embraces the hood, where reflections of palm trees are visible in the 12-stage, hand-sprayed paint job.

Like a well-dressed grande dame making an entrance, Bentley's latest sedan stops and starts conversation. Part of its notoriety is the relative rareness of $203,800 cars; it oozes wealth from every well-buffed inch. (However, my Tetra Rouge red version--another Le Mans throwback--was one bauble too many on an already bejeweled neck--more Superfly than Queen Mother, if you get my drift.) The Arnage's styling also manages a delicate attitudinal balance between classic and contemporary, well mannered and stoked. Despite its four doors (Bentley's only sedan), you'd never mistake it for a Rolls-Royce with its sports-car alloy wheels and muscular stance.

In fact, a lot of the car's charisma rests in its ability to carry off oxymorons rather well: It is flamboyantly understated, stiffly plush, bulky yet fast, a driver's dream that--pull my nails out for saying this--should never be driven. Bentleys have traditionally offered a high-performance counterpart to their Roll-Royce stablemates, and the Arnage is no different, but its beauty is best appreciated in "park." After all, muscley engines exist in many guises; limited-edition, hand-tooled design exercises don't.

The Bentley is a conundrum in another way: It is an enduring endangered species. Industry watchers love to guess what will happen to it in the hands of its new owner, Volkswagen--especially after BMW halts its engine supply at the end of the year. Right now the Arnage carries BMW's aluminum alloy 4.5-liter twin turbo V-8--the same engine capacity as the original 4.5-liter W.O. Bentley vehicles that won five times at Le Mans back in the 1920s. VW currently manufactures no such beast.

Meanwhile, back on the set, I delicately ensconced myself in the sinfully creamy leather interior--although this stuff is to ordinary leather what Chateau Margaux is to vin ordinaire. I imagined loving workers massaging calves with precious oils to achieve such silky skins. The aroma was swoon-inducing, as was the startlingly crimson handstitched-leather dash that hovered like a protective wing above the parchment-colored gauges. Chrome encircled everything that wasn't already surrounded by burl walnut (or whatever; with over 30 veneers available, you can name your arboreal poison) or finished in red-leather piping. Admiring the speedometer and tachometer, the oil-pressure gauge and the battery charge meter, was more like peering into a display case at Cartier than like monitoring a dashboard. And the controls sat high and proud for all to see, not curved exclusively for the driver.

But it was time to drive. I dropped the transmission into "sport" and hit the gas. With a growl and a lurch, the 6,065-pound bulk hauled itself up to speed. We flew past Rodeo Drive and its perennial collection of exotic cars; even the Lamborghinis suddenly looked, well, thrown together. Heading north, bumper-to-bumper traffic allowed for spontaneous brake testing; despite its heft, the Arnage stopped with surprisingly little nose-diving. The steering, controlled by a decadent leather- and wood-wrapped wheel, jumped to command. And the transmission, when in sport mode (there's also a "low" mode for sticky situations--first and second gear only--but I found it the most torque-heavy, revvy, rocketlike fun), tapped into the engine's 350 horses with only minimal lag. The spirited and showy Arnage passed every drivability test (including a respectable zero to 60 of 6.1 seconds), even if it didn't quite feel the way a Le Mans GT-1 car must when screaming around at 200 miles per hour. And yet, moving something that big at that kind of clip didn't feel confidence-inspiring; when you go to change lanes at speed, say, you are 100% committed. After a couple of hours winding it up, turning hard, and passing cannonball style, I decided to pack it in and take a spin in the back seat while my handsome French chauffeur took over (hey, I know how to travel, okay?).

Ah, much better. Suddenly I could appreciate the buttery pelts, the head pillow stitched into the C-pillar, the rearward-facing phone, the Imax view of the spectacular controls. This is how you're supposed to experience the Arnage. The feisty twin turbo felt much stronger back there: every time my driver kicked the gas, I was pressed deeper into the leather-bound bliss. I had time to take in the world through the screen of my rose-colored Bentley, and watch the world take us in too. Roll the camera.

For amusement, I put down the burl-walnut seat-back tray and pretended I was flying. Then I took a closer look at the available options on the Arnage. (By the way, you never buy a Bentley--you commission one.) Maybe I would order the sterling-silver flask and three nip glasses ($3,785). Hmmm. And maybe the VHS video system with twin LCD screens in the headrests ($8,925) was what I needed to complete the decadent mood. Certainly the bottle cooler in the rear center armrest ($5,750), the electric rear-window blind ($2,670), the matching luggage set ($7,560), and the picnic hamper ($925) were mandatory. (Note: When a car's best options adorn the back seat, the company is sending a very clear message. Listen carefully.)

Out of fairness, I eventually surrendered my rearward throne in order to let my companion experience it. I found I preferred the Arnage's feel with someone in the back, as if its weight balance was somehow more settled with rear cargo. My master's big complaint: not enough legroom (did you think I'd invite a short Frenchman along?). This is not a vehicle that should ever be short on anything, unless you're discussing practicality.

After many hours of playing film-star wannabe and placating the crowds with high-speed antics around town, I finally had to surrender my steed. Taking one last glance, I realized that, unlike most other cars in the world, this one is best viewed standing still. Its lines are not about motion but about elegance. Its bubbly shape seems more at home on display than fighting wind currents on the highway, never mind its under-the-hood qualifications.

As if reading my mind, the flatbed towing service showed up to haul the Arnage from my grasp. Even the company wanted it left in park.