You know the look: A long, low-slung sedan finished in shiny black paint with equally bright chrome rolls through town. Beige, burgundy, and blue cars move out of the way, magnetically repelled by the menacing four-door. 

This threatening style has been idolized by Hollywood since the 1960s, perhaps most famously in the unfortunately short-lived ABC television program The Green Hornet, in which actor Van Williams drove a Chrysler Imperial modified by Dean Jeffries. It was painted black, of course, and the chrome slats that ran horizontally across its huge grille clearly meant business—even on the 19-inch TV screens that took up considerable living room real estate in a 1960s home. 

Black paint, while popular today, was a daring, high-style choice in the 1960s that was not-so-subtly influenced by the largely chauffeur-driven cars that carried around heads of state and other major politicians. For instance, the Soviet Union’s KGB notoriously drove around in black-painted GAZ Chaika sedans that had a distinctly Detroit-inspired appearance. (The irony of which seems to have been lost.) 

An outsider might not expect Japan, where the pavement has been specifically engineered to be quiet, to have a small but mighty homegrown industry producing the world’s most ominous cars.

The Japanese Royal Family Needed a Ride of Their Own

Dating back more than 1400 years, Japan’s Imperial Household Agency does just what its name suggests: it manages the royal family’s affairs. This is no easy task for a country so steeped in tradition. In fact, the Imperial Household Agency has more than 1000 civil servants, which stands in marked contrast to the self-funded, non-governmental managers of, say, the British and Swedish royal families. 

The Imperial Household Agency’s wide-ranging list of tasks includes everything from ensuring that the Emperor’s family is comfortable and healthy to organizing and overseeing ceremonies. In the early 1960s, the Imperial Household Agency called automakers together and told them to submit designs for an official state vehicle. The car needed to have four doors, be reasonably spacious, and have a prestigious but not overly ostentatious appearance. 

Prior to World War II, the Emperor’s vehicle fleet consisted of large, imported cars from brands like Rolls-Royce and Daimler. The company’s nascent automotive industry focused on small, mostly work-oriented vehicles. By the early 1960s, Japan’s recovery from the war’s devastating effects was well underway, fueled heavily by Western investment. While Japan didn’t give up on its traditions, the bright lights of Tokyo had a strong American influence. So too did the country’s cars, like the Toyota Crown that looked like last season’s Chevy. So when the Imperial Household Agency came calling, it should come as no surprise that the results looked rather Detroit-ish.

The winner was a brand you might not have heard of: Prince Motor Company. Founded in 1947, Prince was Japan’s short-lived flagship automaker in the early 1960s, though it was in the midst of being folded into Nissan.

The Prince Royal that got the royal nod, so to speak, was based on the Prince Gloria, a vehicle already used by the Japanese government in an official capacity. The Prince Royal was extended to provide those in back with stretch-out legroom, and the rear doors were modified to open coach-style for easier and more elegant access. While not a particularly showy car, the Prince Royal has an understated elegance. Its stacked headlights recall the Ford Galaxie and the big W108-generation Mercedes-Benz models. The tall greenhouse, on the other hand, is a nod to practicality rather than style. Inside, in the Japanese luxury tradition, the wool seats make nary a peep as passengers slide across. Leather would be rather squeakier.

Underhood, the Prince Royal utilized a 6.4-liter V-8—not Japan’s first, but only a couple of years after the so-called “Toyota Hemi.” An eight-cylinder design was, admittedly, an odd choice; while inherently fairly smooth, the engine was undoubtedly a costly thing to develop. Fewer than 10 were ever built, one of which lives at the unusual and yet highly appealing Nissan Engine Museum and Guest Hall next to the company’s powertrain factory in Yokohama, Japan.

Just five Prince Royals were built, and they stayed in service for a staggering 40 years, when they were replaced by a limousine version of the Toyota Century. But the Century doesn’t really owe its status to the Prince Royal. It should thank the Nissan President, a model that was developed back when Nissan and Prince were quasi-competitors.

The President, as its name suggests, was intended from the start as a government vehicle. Unlike Toyota’s Crown, the first Japanese car to use a V-8, the President was developed in direct response to the Imperial Household Agency’s request. At nearly 200 inches long, the President was a very large sedan by Japanese standards. Its styling is contemporary if a bit bland, even in comparison to the Prince Royal. Horizontal headlights embedded in a broad, generic grille give way to fenders that had an almost Ford Falcon modesty to them. There’s a bit more drama at the rear with big NISSAN badging. Copious chrome lines the rocker panels.

While the Prince Royal ended up being chosen to transport the Emperor, Nissan’s President didn’t go home empty-handed. Instead, it was used by the country’s Prime Minister. Government versions were only minimally modified compared to the President models sold through Nissan’s dealership network in Japan, though official-use models were invariably painted black. Those available to consumers came in a slightly wider range of colors. The President was a sign that its owner—and, most likely, the person riding in the back—had arrived. It was the Lincoln Continental of its era. Today, when government spending is closely watched by a hawkish public, there is no U.S.-market comparison.

Nissan didn’t dominate government contracts, but it was a commanding presence into the late 1980s. Then, almost inexplicably, the brand gave up. Its chrome-laden second-generation President, which was based on an early 1970s design, was replaced with a comparatively plebian design that would be sold in the U.S. as the Infiniti Q45. That’s not to say that the Q45 was a dud, but its big plastic bumpers and, in Japanese-market spec, Jaguar-ish grille were not in keeping with tradition. The Imperial Household Agency famously rejected a stretched version of the 1990 President in favor of the Toyota Century.

Toyota’s Century Begins

Thanks in part to the floodgates of 25-year-old vehicles from Japan, the Toyota Century has something of a cult status among enthusiasts in the U.S. today. It was not always this way; while the Century was undoubtedly a high-tech vehicle at its 1967 debut, the Imperial Household Agency initially passed it up in favor of the Nissan President. However, the Century’s rise coincided with Toyota’s phenomenal growth in the 1970s and 1980s, when it began to overtake Nissan as the premier Japanese automaker.

The original Century ran for three decades, always with V-8 power. Despite the fact that its specs and power could have appealed to buyers in Europe and, especially, the U.S., it was rarely sold in left-hand-drive markets. (Toyota flirted with the idea in the early 2000s before concluding that the conservative Century would be no match for the comparatively flamboyant Mercedes-Benz S-Class.)

Yet it’s the Century that endures in Japan, an icon in its own time. The Emperor of Japan rides around in a stretched one, approved by the Imperial Household Agency, of course. The redesigned model that arrived in 2018 carries on the 1960s original style in marked contrast to the edgy, modern look found in any Toyota or Lexus model. There’s even an SUV version now, though its front-wheel-drive architecture and hybrid V-6 powertrain mean it’s more like a snazzy Toyota Highlander than a bespoke Emperor-hauler.

Clearly, the Century has won out, so much so that Toyota recently announced it will position the Century as its own brand as a more conservative sibling to Lexus. It did face some limited competition from Mitsubishi with its mid-1960s Debonair. While the Mitsubishi, with its slab sides and fenders that leap forward past its grille, is basically a rolling villain, the four- or six-cylinder sedan lacked the interior volume and the power to compete with the Century or the President. Its angular 1986 replacement, which looked sort of like a K-Car with fender mirrors, was anything but debonair.

The Yakuza Turns State Cars Into Mafia Cars

Nobody does organized crime like the Japanese—and that is not meant as a compliment. The Yakuza, as the Japanese crime syndicates are broadly known, hit its peak right around the time when the decidedly more upstanding Imperial Household Agency was asking automakers to design a state vehicle.

Those vehicles were soon appropriated by the Yakuza. In retrospect, they have a sinister, angry look. If the bad guy in a period flick drives a car in Tokyo, it’ll be a President, a Century, or perhaps an early Debonair. Set in 1999, HBO’s Tokyo Vice puts the Q45-adjacent Nissan President front and center. While it may not have been the vehicle of choice for the Emperor, that era’s President was the car to have for the heads of organized crime. Perhaps that’s why Nissan steered away from tradition with its final redesign, a swoopy model unsuccessfully sold here as the Infiniti Q70.

These big, black sedans have an authoritarian presence. Their drivers may think they have impunity. Not only are their cars imposing, but they look official—even if those inside are doing anything but official business. Yakuza members often mounted curtains inside their Presidents and Centurys, a style known as VIP that persists today—albeit in a much broader and harder-to-define look. 

We have no direct equivalent in Canada or the US., at least in terms of how the criminal underground appropriated cars meant for high-ranking government officials. The Crown Victorias once favored by Canadian and American cops lack the luxury and exclusivity of a Century or President. A Chevy Tahoe can’t be all that menacing if you can find dozens of them in the carpool line at your local elementary school. And while our head of state has long had a highly modified Cadillac-ish limousine, which has been described as a tank with a limousine body, it lacks a showroom counterpart. That said, the crested wreath brand made a strong appearance in the late-1990s/early-2000s setting of HBO’s The Sopranos.

It’s a different story in Japan, though. There, a government official arrives in black-and-chrome style—as dictated, if indirectly—by the edicts set forth by the Imperial Household Agency. The automotive equivalent of a tuxedo is, after all, always in style. For the Silo, Andrew Ganz/Hagerty.