You know the song. You probably know the flying car with the red and yellow wings. But if you think Chitty Chitty Bang Bang the car was just a piece of movie magic dreamt up by a prop department in the late sixties, you're only scratching the surface of a much weirder, grease-stained reality.
Ian Fleming didn't just pull that name out of thin air while he was taking a break from writing James Bond.
The "real" Chitty was a beast. Actually, it was a series of beasts. Long before Dick Van Dyke was hopping around a workshop in a waistcoat, a guy named Count Louis Zborowski was terrorizing the English countryside with massive aero-engine racing cars. These weren't delicate little things. They were loud. They were terrifying. They spat fire.
And that’s where the legend begins.
The mad genius behind the name
Count Louis Zborowski was basically a real-life Bruce Wayne, if Bruce Wayne was obsessed with sticking 23-liter airplane engines into Mercedes chassis. He built four different "Chitty Bang Bang" cars at his Higham Park estate.
Why the name?
Some people say it was the sound the engines made—a rhythmic chitty-chitty hiss and a bang of backfire. Others, who like a bit more scandal, claim it was a reference to a dirty soldier’s song from World War I. Whatever the truth, the cars were engineering marvels of the 1920s. The first one had a Maybach engine. It was a 300-horsepower monster that could hit 100 miles per hour at Brooklands when 100 mph was considered "approaching the speed of sound" territory for most folks.
Fleming knew Zborowski. Or at least, he knew the legend. When he wrote the children’s book for his son, Caspar, he took that raw, mechanical power and added a layer of soul. He made the car a character.
How the movie car actually worked
When it came time to film the 1968 classic, the producers couldn't exactly use a vintage racing car with a dangerous aeronautical engine. They needed something that looked magical but functioned like a modern vehicle.
They hired Ken Adam to design it. If that name sounds familiar, it's because he’s the guy who designed the villainous lairs in the early Bond films. He had a specific vision for Chitty Chitty Bang Bang the car. It had to look like a high-end Edwardian tourer, but with those iconic "secret" additions.
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The "hero" car—the one that actually drove—was built by Alan Mann Racing in Hertfordshire.
It wasn't a prop made of plywood and hope. It was a legitimate piece of machinery. Underneath that polished cedar wood boat-tail and the gleaming brass radiator was a Ford 3000 V6 engine. The chassis was custom-built from square-tube steel. It had an automatic transmission because, honestly, trying to film a musical while wrestling with a non-synchronized manual gearbox from 1910 would have been a nightmare for the actors.
They built several versions:
- The "Hero" car for driving shots (registered as GEN 11).
- A racing version for the opening scenes.
- A "flying" version that was mostly a shell for studio work.
- A "hovering" version for the water scenes.
Basically, they over-engineered it. And thank God they did, because that’s why the car still looks so convincing today.
The GEN 11 legacy and the auction circuit
For years after filming wrapped, the main Chitty Chitty Bang Bang the car was owned by Pierre Picton. He was a circus performer and a promoter who took the car all over the world. If you saw the car at a charity event or a parade between the 70s and the early 2000s, it was likely Pierre’s.
He took care of it. He loved it.
But in 2011, things changed. The car went up for auction at Profiles in History in California. It sold for about $805,000. While that sounds like a lot, it was actually below the initial estimate of $1 million to $2 million. Maybe the market for flying cars was down that week?
The buyer was Sir Peter Jackson.
Yeah, the Lord of the Rings director. He’s a massive vintage aviation and car nerd, so it ended up in a good home. He uses it for charity events in New Zealand, often appearing in parades to raise money for local causes. It’s nice to know it’s not just rotting in a dark basement somewhere.
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It’s not just a car; it’s a boat (sort of)
One of the most distinctive features of the car is the back end. It’s not a trunk. It’s a boat-tail.
The woodwork was done by real boat builders. They used polished cedar to give it that nautical flare. When you see the car in the film, the transition from road vehicle to "floating" craft feels organic because the design language is already there.
There's a lot of debate among enthusiasts about the "realism" of the gadgets.
Obviously, it doesn't fly. But the way the wings deployed in the movie was a masterpiece of practical effects. There were no CGI shortcuts in 1968. If you see wings coming out, there’s a mechanical rig making it happen. That tactile quality is why the car still resonates. You can almost smell the oil and the sea salt when it’s on screen.
What most people get wrong about the replicas
Because there was only one "hero" car, a lot of people have tried to build their own.
You’ll see them at car shows. Some are brilliant. Some look like they were made in a garage with a few rolls of duct tape and a dream.
The biggest misconception is that the movie used a vintage Mercedes. It didn't. The grill was styled to look like a Mercedes-Benz, but it was a custom fabrication. If you’re looking at a "Chitty" and the proportions seem off, it’s probably because the owner used a VW Beetle chassis or a Land Rover base.
The original GEN 11 car is huge. It’s nearly 18 feet long. It weighs about 2 tons. It has a presence that’s hard to replicate on a budget.
If you're ever lucky enough to see a high-quality replica or the original itself, look at the brass. The amount of polishing required to keep Chitty Chitty Bang Bang the car looking "film-ready" is a full-time job. Pierre Picton used to spend hours every single day just keeping the oxidation at bay.
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Why we are still talking about a 50-year-old movie prop
Nostalgia is a hell of a drug, sure. But it’s more than that.
The car represents a specific moment in cinema where the "star" wasn't always a human. In the late 60s, you had the Batmobile, the Mustang from Bullitt, and the Aston Martin DB5. Chitty was the whimsical cousin to those cars. It offered a sense of freedom.
Think about the plot. The car is literal junk. It’s a burnt-out wreck destined for the scrap heap until Caractacus Potts rescues it.
There's a deep human connection to the idea of "fixing" something that the world has given up on. We love an underdog story, even if the underdog is made of steel and brass.
And honestly? It’s just a beautiful design. The contrast of the polished wood against the silver hood and those vibrant red wheels is striking. It shouldn't work. It’s a mess of different eras and styles. But it does.
Actionable insights for fans and collectors
If you've fallen down the rabbit hole and want to see the car or own a piece of the history, here is the reality of the situation:
- Visit the National Motor Museum: If you’re in the UK, Beaulieu is the place to go. They have one of the original stunt cars. It’s not the "hero" GEN 11, but it’s as close as most people will ever get to the real thing.
- Check the Registration: If you see a car claiming to be the original, look for the GEN 11 plate. There are many licensed replicas, but only one original driving car from the Alan Mann workshop.
- Research the Zborowski Chittys: If you’re a gearhead, look up the "Higham Special." It’s the spiritual successor to the original racing Chittys and eventually became the famous "Babs" land speed record car.
- DIY isn't cheap: Thinking of building a replica? You’re looking at a minimum of $50,000 for a decent kit-based version, and upwards of $200,000 for a scratch-built car that actually captures the scale of the movie version.
- The Fleming Connection: Read the original book. It’s very different from the movie. The car in the book is more of a sentient being with a bit of a temper, which adds a whole new layer to how you’ll view the film version.
The legend of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang the car isn't going anywhere. It’s baked into our cultural DNA. Whether it’s the roar of the Count’s aero-engines or the whistle of the movie theme, this "fine four-fendered friend" remains the benchmark for what a fictional car can be.
It’s a reminder that with enough imagination—and maybe a lot of brass polish—anything can fly.
Next Steps for Enthusiasts:
If you're serious about the technical history, start by researching the engineering specs of the Maybach IV aero engine used in Zborowski’s first car. Understanding the sheer scale of those engines explains why the movie car had to be so massive to look "right." Then, track the current exhibition schedule for the Beaulieu Motor Museum, as they frequently rotate their film car displays. For those interested in the Bond connection, Ian Fleming’s letters often mention his fascination with Zborowski’s cars, providing a rare glimpse into the car's literary origins.