Alfa Romeo Tonale TI Hybrid

Some years ago now, attending an Alfa Romeo launch far to the north of Hadrian’s Wall, I shared the day’s driving with a grizzled veteran of the motoring correspondent cadre. Nature being something of a show-off in that part of the world, I was moved to ask my companion what he thought of Scotland. His response was instantaneous: “It makes a jolly nice noise”…

This, then, is what used to happen when you climbed behind the wheel of a car boasting the best looking bonnet badge in the business. An Alfa had the knack of demanding your attention -to the exclusion of other trifling considerations such as breath-taking scenery- in a way that few other marques could match. And that seduction process invariably began with the sounds emanating from under the bonnet.

Once upon a time, tradition had it that, when designing a new car, the Italians invariably started with the engine. Having satisfied themselves that it would develop more power than you’d believe possible and sound positively spectacular, they’d tinker with it a great deal more. Then they’d take another long, hard look at the engine just to make sure there wasn’t another bhp or two to be wrung out somehow. And finally they’d bung on wheels, seats and some bodywork, and there you had it.

Which is why you could always spot an Alfa driver in the depths of winter; he’d be the one that walked into the room with a lump of snow on his right elbow. Pity the plight of his passengers, for you can guarantee that he drove with his window wide open and the radio glued in the off position, all the better to hear what the engine exhaust had to say to him, at all times, all over the place. I know this is true because, for a few years which my wife would still struggle to describe as ‘happy’, I was that driver.

My Alfa was the achingly pretty Alfetta GTV6, complete with pinstripe upholstery, head restraints strung like tennis rackets, a bank of minor instruments that refused to wake up each morning until you thumped the dash top, and a glorious 2.5 litre V6 on which the mechanic from whom I bought the car had breathed until it sang like Tom Jones bending over to pick up the soap in Strangeways prison.

It was rear-wheel drive and fabulously tail-happy, nothing that was supposed to go wrong ever broke, but everything that wasn’t –including, memorably, the steering rack in the depths of Wales- did, the brakes were prisoner-of-war work-shy, and my wife missed out on so many episodes of the Archers that she almost gave up listening.

When architectural career-sponsored impecunity forced a crisis, I seriously considered selling my flat to live in the car. Nothing I’ve ever owned since, and little I’ve driven, has ever got under my skin in quite the same way…

Certainly -given that all that has ever been asked of it is a pretty car with a fabulous sounding engine and rear-wheel drive- nothing from Alfa. The 164 and 159 were both OK to look at but power went to the front wheels; in four-wheel drive guise and armed with a 3.2 litre cousin of the lovely 2.5 litre V6, the handsome Brera should have been great but somehow just wasn’t; whilst, as an Alfasud replacement, I’d happily write the giant kidney bean Mito off as something of a dog were it not for its uncanny frontal resemblance to the hideous Fritz the Cat.

I never even warmed to the offerings about which others raved. The much vaunted 4C steered like a mad spaniel on a lead, boasted an engine note even louder and more wince-worthy than any of today’s crop of Radio 1 DJs, and, with headlamp clusters aping the face of Henry J. Waternoose III and properly clunky rear shoulder air intake styling, just wasn’t good looking enough.

Then followed what seemed like decades in the doldrums, with Fiat demonstrating as little clue what to do with Alfa as BMW displayed during its brief and unhappy ownership of Rover; endless promises of the next car on the launch pad being destined to save the company. All bollocks.

OK; not quite all. Armed with a turbocharged V6 and rear-wheel drive the Giulia Quadrifoglio gives great Alfa, and goes like a stabbed rat to boot, even if the engine doesn’t sound a patch on the glorious, Giuseppe Busso developed original. But, sorry, pretty it ain’t…

So, what hope for Alfa under the banner of Stellantis -a corporate monsterpiece the name of which surely owes rather more to the switching on of a computer than furrowed brows, sucked biros, bad coffee and Custard Creams?

Well, from the off, the news that the Tonale shares numerous platform and suspension parts with the less-than-sporting Jeep Compass is hardly likely to discourage doubters from deploying the gleeful mispronunciation ‘Toenail’.

Many have raved about its good looks setting it apart from the crowd. Really? Less numerous will be those enthusing over a mildly hybridised 1.5 litre turbo powertrain with just 20 bhp provided by the electric motor. But it will at least allow you to pull away and potter at walking pace without the engine interfering. Sort of.

The cabin is something of a mixed bag; the driving position fine and the instrument binnacle, though all-digital, a gentle homage to the days when Alfa instruments were each sunk to periscope depth within howitzer diameter hoods. The steering wheel’s good to hold too, but the absence of a full colour badge in its centre is one of many whiffs of penny-pinching on board; the upshot being simply OK rather than especially desirable.

And the driving experience is every ounce as much of a curate’s egg as the interior. Alfa’s DNA drive mode selector puts in an appearance, but letters that once stood Normal and All Weather have now been re-christened Natural and Advanced Efficiency (God knows why). Happily, because that’s the setting in which those who long for a proper Alfa will reside, the ‘D’ still stands for Dynamic…

At low speeds the Tonale’s positively horrid to drive; the powertrain sluggish, tentative and jerky as it tries to rely on the electric motor before quickly giving up and ham-fistedly calling the engine into play. The ride’s not bad, but it’s so hard to extract smooth, predictable progress that the whole feels notably less relaxed and comfortable than it ougher.

Once speeds rise, it’s clear that the car has been set up with agility in mind, not least because the steering’s hilariously quick at about 2.2 turns between locks. But the helm’s also very light, which leads to the feeling that the platform isn’t particularly stable and a tad flighty. And this is where Dynamic mode comes into play; adding weight to the steering and a wake-up call to the throttle.

You can’t pick individual characteristics of different powertrain and suspension elements as in, say, VW’s system, but the combination of more heft in the helm and a more eager powertrain does at least make for a more convincing drive.

Unfortunately, if there even a whiff of Alfisti about you, you won’t find the Tonale convincing enough. This is far more just another compact-ish SUV than it is a true Alfa Romeo.