Let’s start this off by talking about the 800-pound gorilla in the room—specifically, the 882-pound hybrid system added to what is already a larger and heavier platform than the outgoing M5. At 5,390 pounds, this 2025 BMW M5 is a chunky monkey, and it’s been the topic of ire for seemingly every armchair expert on Earth, spawning countless—admittedly funny—memes.
Here’s the thing: just like the people driving them, most cars are overweight now. The Audi RS 6 Avant is 400 pounds lighter, sure, but lacks the electrified powertrain and the performance that comes with it. The Mercedes-AMG GT 63 S E-Performance, which is probably the closest competitor to the M5 at the moment, is a much smaller car with half the battery capacity—and is 200 pounds heavier. Yes, the new M5 has a gargantuan bottom line, but so does almost everything else these days. Such is progress, I suppose.
Progress has been a point of ire on M5s ever since the second-generation E34 bowed to the world in 1990. Reviews at the time were generally quite favorable, with its added refinement and ensuing weight gain acting as a double-edged sword. It created an undercurrent of wondering-out-loud if the extra comfort and quiet was worth losing the raw edge that defined the original E28 from the 1980s.
Trawling through old “which should I buy?” forum posts from prospective buyers reveals a general trend of this for every generation of M5. That E34 may have been a little too slick for its own good, but when compared to the E39 that carried BMW through the new millenium, it suddenly became the raw, purist driver’s car. I authored a few of those fossilized wall carvings about the E39 M5. You know, the good one. The legend. The one everyone says is the best sports sedan ever built. The standard by which everything else should be judged. The one that starred in its own short film with Clive Owen.
I didn’t like the one I drove. I thought it was too numb compared to the E34 I was used to, which in turn was too numb compared to the E28 I also had. Every M5 is too slick and too fat for its own good. And so it goes.
Even beyond the Bavarian realm, every car now—save for the Miata—is too fat and too slick for its own good. We’ve heard it. There is a cogent argument that we have to be approaching a tipping point; there has to be a point where someone puts a stop to this madness of mammoth cars with four-figure power outputs, four-wheel-drive, four-wheel steering, twin-turbos and twin propulsion systems. This and that and the kitchen sink, all for the ability to delete a driver’s licence in three seconds while “protecting” the environment.
But let’s not get too far into that. You have to admit, a technological tour-de-force with dual-everything and four doors that can go toe-to-toe with a Lamborghini is pretty rad.
Like the last few M5s, this car is motivated by a 4.4-litre twin-turbocharged V8, now pumping out 577 horsepower and 553 pound-feet of torque on its own It’s a fire-breathing dragon to be sure, but unlike its predecessors, this engine is augmented by an electric motor. Peak combined output climbs to 717 horsepower and 738 pound-feet of torque— 1,000 newton-metres, as they say in the fatherland.
It’s a curious setup, deliberately designed to feel natural. The electric motor is integrated into the transmission housing; it’s a tiny thing that’s accentuated by its own transmission of sorts—BMW calls it pre-gearing. It generates 194 horsepower and 207 pound-feet of torque on its own—about the same as a Civic Si—but its gearing system allows it to generate up to 332 lb-ft. Combine that with the already dubious power rating of electric motors, and BMW’s own predilection for underrating their gas engines, and the true output of this package is a bit of a mystery. I’ve driven some fast cars; few are as alarming as this.
In its pure electric mode, the 2025 M5 can travel a little over 50 kilometres. It can be charged either by a wall plug, or via the eControl mode that cleverly charges the battery on the fly at a minimal cost to fuel; I observed an average fuel efficiency of 12.6 L/100 km. Because of its in-line integration with engine and transmission, it doesn’t feel as eerie in its power delivery as something like, say, a Corvette E-Ray. It just feels like a gas V8 that just so happens to be insanely powerful. Even in pure electric mode, it’s still going through the transmission and shifting gears. Between that and the dull background hum, it doesn’t feel like the engine is offline at all. The new M5 never feels like an EV.
Naysayers will cry that this hybridization is watering down what the M5 is about, but the know-how for this legitimately comes from BMW’s Motorsport division—the one that makes actual race cars, not flashy street cars. BMW’s M Hybrid V8 GTP race car uses a not-dissimilar powertrain setup; as of this writing, it’s already picked up two wins and eight podium finishes in 12 IMSA endurance races. Maybe you’ve seen reels of these cars wheee-ing out of the pit lane on electric power before the gas engine bwarrs to life in a fit of fury, then flying off into the distance.
This M5 does the same thing. It fires up with muted anger, and if at rest, a sharp jolt through your seat. I was worried this M5 would be too sterile for its own good; that it would simply be a louder i5 M60. The M5 is quite the opposite—quite a bit harder edged, more raw, characterful, and special. Despite being a two-and-a-half-ton big boi, it feels purpose-built, like the absurdly fast car that it is. It’s got an attitude.
Like M5s of the golden era, I wouldn’t advise one of these cars if otherworldly performance isn’t a top priority. Yes, it’s beautifully built, the seats are fantastic, there’s tons of room, the infotainment and sound system are among the best, as are the driver assists and self-driving tech. It is a loaded, modern luxury sedan, after all. It also rides surprisingly hard, even in its most demure [And mindful? —Ed.] of settings. And while the M5 isn’t loud by any stretch, literally every other, lesser 5 is notably less intrusive. Concessions have been made in order to be this fast.
And I’m still not sure they conceded enough. Despite having massive 295-size paws, the M5 still feels under-tired at times. In its most aggressive setting, with four-wheel-drive disabled, it’s functionally useless on anything other than a hot, dry race track. It’s just a constant battle of wheelspin and a modicum of dut-dut-dut traction management to stop you from spinning instantly, and in the split-second before that intervention kicks in, it’s a little scary.
Even when its dialed back a shade and with the all-wheel-drive system in its rear-biased M Dynamic Mode, the M5 is still a monster. It skims the edge of being unruly, with every snappy gear change through the eight-speed automatic sending a wriggle through the rear end that feels like flirting with disaster. There is a real sense that this car is really trying to protect you, struggling to contain its own forces, and that it would be completely undrivable without its digital safety net.
The same feeling follows its handling. The amount of mechanical grip that this car can generate in a corner is bewildering, as if there’s no such thing as too fast. The M5’s weight is masked completely by its adaptive damping and four-wheel steering, in defiance of the laws of physics. Turn-in is ferocious, almost too-much so; the steering is so quick and it’s so agile in its response that it’s hard to smoothly modulate sideways behaviour. It’s as if the M5 only understands being on rails.
That surreal on-rails feel continues all the way through the corner and right through the ludicrously quick exit. The M5 feels impervious, capable of otherworldly feats that allow you to lean on the throttle earlier and harder, no matter what. Frankly, I ran out of testicular fortitude to keep exploring this car’s balance. It’s way, way too fast for mere mortals on the road. I have no idea what this car is capable of other than being frightening, because the only weakness it ever demonstrates is the occasional uneasy shift of its heft. It’s a reminder that there is a limit to it all, somewhere, if you dare.
It feels like hunting for rabbits with a heat-seeking missile launcher. It’s complete and total overkill, and there’s never actually enough room to line up a shot and fire the damn thing anywhere other than a warzone. Other staffers around here really enjoyed it, and found it playful, fun, and of course, fast. Personally, I like to use all of a car, and you can’t use all of a WMD like this anywhere. I would probably appreciate it a lot more if I could just once experience its full potential on a hot, dry track, and find out where the laws of physics catch up to this overpowered leviathan, so that maybe it wouldn’t feel like playing with dark magic.
To be abundantly clear, I am not trying to sound negative. The world demanded a motorsport-bred executive sedan, and BMW delivered just that. It’s excessive in every regard, because motorsport has come that far. People say they’ve missed the mark with this overweight compliance car, but I’m telling you, this new M5 is anything but. It’s a comfortable, practical—and yes, surprisingly frugal—luxury sedan, that’s been force-fed prototype race car DNA. It’s astonishing, all the more so at its $158,900 price tag.
Yes, the latest M5 is bursting at the seams with technology, but they’ve made it all work and feel the way it’s supposed to in a modern missile. It’s an achievement because not long ago, a car with this kind of power was an undrivable burnout machine. BMW M has honed it and made it work, even if it at times feels like it’s just barely keeping it together, which only adds to the thrill. Maybe it is too fat, too slick, and far too fast for its own good, but the M5 has always been a little much for its era, and this latest interpretation for our modern world is bang-on the money. Whether it’s for better or worse is debatable, but there’s no denying the 2025 BMW M5 demolishes every target it sets out to hit.
