When I was a kid, there were a few cars that left a deep impression on me. The Alpine A310, for instance, or the R5 Turbo. Or, for an unfathomable reason, the Fiat Ritmo (or Strada, depending where you were.) The Alfetta GT was also a shape that was very familiar and beloved by a young T87. But then, they all disappeared. By about 1995, there were just none of these around.
That’s particularly true for first series cars like this one, with metal bumpers. By the time I was consciously trying to identify cars by make, in the mid-‘80s, these were already showing signs of rust.
And then there were none. They vanished from the automotive landscape – in Europe, at least. Until I started seeing a few in Tokyo, I don’t think I crossed paths with a single one for about 25 years.
Which, I’m sure we can all agree, is a huge shame. I would not use the word “beautiful” to describe the Alfetta GT, but it’s certainly distinctive. That’s probably why it impressed my young eyes way back when. The brow on those quad headlights gives it a concerned look, for some reason.
The back end was even more mesmerizing, with those pointed flanks and odd taillights that weren’t clustered, unlike 95% of cars. (I like the early Peugeot 504 C for the same reason). And that overall shape in the back is so massive, so un-Alfa, that it really took the genius of Giugiaro to make it work. And it does work. Except the tailpipe placement, maybe. That could have been different.
Giugiaro had already penned the preceding Alfa coupé, the Giulia-based 105 GTV. It’s difficult to imagine how the same man authored two Alfa coupés that look more different within about a decade one from the other.
It has been said that the quads with that aforementioned brow was Giugiaro giving a nod and a wink to Gandini’s Montreal, then the most prestigious model in Alfa Romeo’s range. Be that as it may, I haven’t found a direct quote from either designer on the matter.
What is far clearer is that Giugiaro seemed to run out of inspiration, at least as far as the Milanese carmaker was concerned. The Alfasud Sprint, which debuted two years after the Alfetta GT, looks like a cheap copy of its big sister.
And yet, the Alfetta and the Alfasud are completely different animals underneath. The Sud was Alfa’s first FWD car, featuring a new boxer engine. The Alfetta carried on with the legacy DOHC 4-cyl. seen on the Giulia and Giulietta, but what struck most enthusiasts when the saloon was launched in 1973 was the sophistication of the chassis. A five-speed transaxle in the back end, suspended by way of a Watts linkage, coils and a De Dion tube. More Lancia than Alfa?
The coupé arrived in 1974, available only with the 1.8 litre engine that used to motivate the Giulia 1750. Inside, the lucky owner was treated to a feast of Italian quirks, including a massive centre stack dominated by a huge instrument binnacle. In front of the driver was a single large gauge – the rev counter. Because that’s all you need to pay close attention to when you’re piloting an Alfa Romeo.
Compared to the 105 GTV of yore, rear passengers are treated to an appreciable increase in their living quarters, both head-wise and, to a lesser extent, elbow-wise. Legs were still going to be an issue though, but at least breathing was now permitted. And facilitated by the fact that about a third of the rear window could be cranked open. Progress!
Fastback / liftback designs were becoming a major thing in the ‘70s. The Alfetta could even have gone further and succumbed to the shooting brake fad that was then at its height. It’s not quite there, of course, but it would make sense. A lot more than a convertible would, anyway.
In the ‘80s, Alfa stuffed their new V6 in the Alfetta coupé and turned it into a bona fide sports car. In this initial 123hp incarnation, the car was deemed as reasonably capable, but not in the same realm as, say, a Porsche or a Maserati. So what kind of car would have been the Alfetta GT’s rivals back in the mid-‘70s? Let’s ascertain the state of play in Harold Wilson’s UK, shall we?
There were a number of even cheaper options, of course – including some serious home-grown heroes like the Sunbeam Rapier H120 or the MGB GT V8. This is the higher-end of the non-supercar coupé market, essentially. Fierce competition, to be sure. The Scimitar and the Beta would make my shortlist. As would the Audi, probably. But the Alfa would still top it. For the quirky styling, for the melodic and eager engine.
But then there’s the build quality. And on that score, the Alfa is not the best. Nor is it the worst, probably – rust protection was largely theoretical, in those days. And Italian electrics were famously terrible, though again, British or French ones were not that much better. And then, there’s everything else. I mean, look at the paint on our feature car here: it’s about to flake off.
That’s why these all disappeared. Brilliant and sophisticated though they were, they self-destructed. Over 137k were made between 1974 and 1986, but I would be astounded if there were more than a couple of thousand survivors today. Later cars were apparently a little less rust-prone, but as I remember it, they too were not around for very long. Counting this one, I have seen three in Tokyo. Long may they carry on beating those odds.
Related post:
Curbside Classic: 1975 Alfa Romeo Alfetta GT Coupe/GTV – A La Moda Italiana, by PN
Every time I was tempted by an Italian car, I’d sit in it and my arms would be stretched to reach the steering wheel.
The trick is to drive like the Italians do, or at least commonly did at the time — hands in your lap holding the wheel at 4-5 and 7-8 o’clock, shuffling the lower half of the wheel hand-to-hand there for minor curves or pulling down from the sides for sharper corners. Then everything falls readily to hand with a relaxed posture.
The most commercially successful of all the competiton has to be the BMW, I figure, while we (in the U.S.) only ever got the somewhat weak engined 320i (that Callaway would turbo for you if desired), ROW received the 323i version which was likely far better in that regard.
It won’t surprise you in the sligthtest that I quite like the shape of the Alfetta and would not kick this one out of the garage were it to appear there one Christmas morning but my own leanings are strongly toward the later models with the (gasp!) black plastic and rubber bits and bobs etc, bringing it firmly into the 1980s, the V6 helps too I suppose.
The most recent one that I’ve seen (in years as well) is the one attached. A 1984 model, almost completely picked over within a week of appearing (or more likely it came in that way), this example’s bodyshell had ZERO rust that I could discern, even underneath, a remarkable achievement.
Now, back when the GTV6 and its plastic adornments appeared, I’d not have gasped but instead agreed with you, and have done so for years after that. But one fine day, the scales fell off the Alfa, sorry, from my eyes, and I saw it all anew, and realized that the clean original was best. Like Robbie Coltrane before the Hagrid beard. Or not.
Thanks for sharing this, maybe not the most beautiful car in the world, but one that I could look at all day long.
The competition you have listed is blisteringly good. Apart from the Stag, any one of them would be a joy to own and drive.
A remarkable car that looks better than its a side profile has a reason to. In fact from the side and in general concept it is remarkably similar to the Leyland Princess, especially the early four headlight version. But execution could not be more different.
The Alfetta is an automotive mascot for those who, like me, believe that unconventional beauty can be just as compelling as obvious beauty.
I was going to describe its profile as being “egg-shaped”, but it’s really no more so than a contemporary Ford Capri. Giugiaro figured out a way to cheat more headroom out of a 2+2 design by giving this coupe almost an extended roofline. The rear legroom would have me sitting sideways in the back seat, but I’d rather be driving it, anyway.
An egg? Giugiaro was 3/4 of the way way to origami land when he laid this one down. Say, I want pictures of these angular eggs you’ve been buying. They sound more convenient.
Which for no good reason reminds me of the old nonsense saying: “Allow me to introduce you to the camel. It eats mud, shits bricks, and has a triangular arsehole. Hence, the Pyramids.”
You do still see them in Australia, I probably spot one on the street about once or twice a year. Actually I just saw a later model car yesterday at Cileberti Motors in Perth, local Alfa specialist. It must be the weather here that helps them survive better, plus the large Italian diaspora
Got mine out in the garage and it still impresses me everytime I see it.
That bodyshell does seem a sad waste – I’d bet there’d be a few Europeans who’d fight over it!
It was very much a creation form the sci-fi era of car design, from its space module shape and insane interior.
They were expensive and often pretty rubbish. That’s pretty and rubbish, BTW.
Places like Alfaholics did eventually figure out a gear linkage that linked and dampers that damped and the initial promise could then be fulfilled.
The Princess comparo is interesting – that was more let down by atrocious detailing and being perceived as too big (it wasn’t, really). The problem was that the GT’s avant-garde appealed to Lex Lothario, but the Princess didn’t to Bob Square-Pants.
I like the Sud Sprint like the Alfetta Berlina – they looked like they’d used a schematic and forgotten to style them. Yet they are very pretty. That’s quite a skill and one that modern ‘stylists’ would do well to learn.
An aside, really, but did Harris Mann ever design a car that wasn’t not-quite-right? The poor Alfa maybe isn’t especially beautiful, but surely it’s not down in the TR7/Allegro/Princess category?
Well, his design for the Maestro was tidier than the one that we got. He couldn’t do much about the car’s awkward hard points though.
So short answer – no.
They look like the profile of some slightly up-himself 1920’s male with all the hair Brylcreemed back who’s staring down his longish aquiline nose, and, as a result of that tilted-back look, also look like they’d take off at speed. (Maybe I’m right on the latter – that front spoiler always looked out of place).
I do like them, but they never had a great name. The gearchange was always picked on, the steering regarded as a bit slow, and the driving position heavily derided. I do know they can be fast, as F1 champion Alan Jones raced a GTV6 against local 5 litre+ V8’s and was highly competitive, although that said, it probably takes such skill to get the best out of them.
Sadly, they rusted even in this benign climate, and survivors are only seen as club-registered cars on sunny weekends now.
Nice rims. The rest: a waste of money.
About the tailpipe, my ‘69 1750 Berlina was similar, having a single exhaust in the center, but coming out at an angle. The explanation had to do with aerodynamics and low pressure helping the exhaust extraction, but I always thought it was just to be different.