Alpine A110
It nearly came to fisticuffs at the 2017 Geneva Motor Show when I told the nice man from Renault that I didn’t fancy the look of the new Alpine A110 as much as he clearly believed I should…
Thing is, the Alpine that really sticks in my memory is the sharp-suited, droop-snooted V6 turbo-powered GTA with which the gendarmerie used to terrorise velocity transgressors on their autoroutes, rather than the petite and achingly pretty A110 Berlinette of 1969 designed by the great Giovanni Michelotti.
The Berlinette entirely fulfilled Alpine founder Jean Redele’s concept of a lightweight, compact and highly agile sports car that could change direction like a rubber bullet fired into a squash court. Indeed, this was the car that brough the Alpine-Renault team manufacturers World Rally Championship victory in 1973.
The GTA that followed, and its successor the A610 – which took the Alpine name with it to the grave in 1995, was something of a thug by comparison, really having only a rear-mounted powerplant in common with the A110.
Some 22 years later, then, the Alpine brand was reborn in the form of a blatant homage to that first A110. But it appears to have been stung by a bee and developed a rather nasty allergic reaction, in the process of which the diminutive proportions, and sleekness, that constituted so much of the Berlinette’s appeal have largely disappeared.
It’s not at all a bad effort, but as the matt mercury silver Legende GT 2021 limited edition variant I drove demonstrates, it does seem particularly colour-sensitive, looking at its best in the electric blue of the 1969 original. Ah, well; at least it hasn’t taken the company as long as Porsche to finally produce a car with the engine in the right place…
The interior is also something of a curate’s egg to my eye. Fit and finish are pretty good, though the centre console feels a bit wobbly; maybe that’s the price you pay for fanatical weight saving.
Instrumentation is a mixture of switches and a smallish touchscreen; the latter not the last word by any means, but it doesn’t need to be in a car which provides its own infotainment without the need for all-singing, all-dancing connectivity and a 12-speaker audio system.
The cockpit is cosy and not unstylish, with not enough Renault on show (a faint whiff of switchgear and air vents) to leave you feeling too short changed. The lightweight seats are leather clad and very comfortable, and it’s easy to find an excellent driving position.
The driver’s instrument binnacle is digital, but the display is all faux analogue with rev counter and speedo predominant, and lesser dials for temperature, fuel and time. Sport mode changes things to give predominance to gear selection, revs and digital speed.
The helm is perfectly sized and pock-marked by just one red pimple, through which you may select Normal, Sport and Track driving modes; no, I’m not going anywhere near the latter in this vile weather as it disables ESC and, shortly thereafter, me.
Three buttons crown the centre console, and you press ‘D’ twice to go into flappy paddle manual mode. The paddles themselves are metal, hence cool to the touch on a day like today -which is lovely, with a decent length to the top blade because they don’t move with the wheel.
Last but not least, a plaque tells me this is car number 20 out of the 300 that will sell in Europe. So by the time you read this you’re probably already out of luck. And I do mean luck. Because this thing is an absolute riot.
Transversely mounted amidships is a 1.8 litre, four-cylinder turbocharged engine developing, in this Legende GT guise, 292 bhp (44 bhp more than a standard A110) and 236 lb ft of torque. This is delivered to the rear wheels via a seven-speed, dual-clutch Getrag gearbox. It’s a delicious gearchange; silky smooth. I never caught it out in Normal mode; not a hitch or a snatch going up or down.
And it’s properly quick. Alpine claims 4.4 seconds for the 0-62 mph dash, and though figures aren’t available, we must assume it somewhat betters the standard car’s 6.0 seconds dead for 30 to 70 mph in fourth gear.
The engine note’s quite hard to describe; somewhat gruff at start up, burbling and muttering, it builds nicely to a sort of metallic blare complimented by the manically breathy air handling of the turbocharger, with entertaining pops and bangs on overrun. Hardly sonorous, but a remarkably enthusiastic din for a small unit…
The steering’s spot on; nicely weighted and fabulously accurate. Perhaps not the last word in communication, but you get so much of that from the chassis and the rest of the car that it never seems to feel like an issue.
And the ride’s a delight. Wonderfully supple with an easy fluidity about it that reminds me of a snake making its way over compacted sand. No crashing or banging at all, the car just soaks up everything my favourite B road can throw at it. Sleeping policemen are a doddle to boot.
That’s the beauty of such light weight, you don’t need to toughen the suspension and widen the tyres to extract dynamism from an all-aluminium chassis and body that weighs in at only 1134 kg.
Double wishbones all round allow the A110 to walk softly and still carry a big stick. So though there’s a tad more body roll and greater wheel travel than you might expect from such a sporting car, all is hilariously predictable and effortless fun.
The first time I drove an A110 a while ago, I was somewhat disconcerted by a perception of the rear end squirrelling around a good deal; it remined me of my old Alfetta GTV6, the preferred cornering attitude of which was inevitably sideways. But this car, despite wet weather, doesn’t feel like that; rather, merely the whole package constantly signalling its intent to do exactly want you wish of it, exactly when you want to do so.
I think the last time I felt the same sense of complete immersion and unalloyed fun when driving a car on the open road was behind the wheel of Toyota’s GR Yaris. But with all wheel drive and stacks of grip, that was a very different kettle of fish.
The A110 delights in keeping you informed as to exactly where its somewhat lower limits of adhesion lie, and then reassuring even the ham-fisted that all will be well when you exceed them. A hoot. I do, however, wish it looked better both inside and out. Sorry.