Alpha Alfa

Alfa Romeo makes exquisite cars.

Most of us Americans will never get to hear about the best of them, though. Much like staid socialism and modern civility, Alfas have been nearly universally relegated to Europe.

I've been trying to do a bit of background research on Alfa models, but it's ridiculously difficult to find anything substantial. Admittedly, I'm not looking terribly hard—this is a journal post, not a history of all things Alfa—but it's nevertheless clear that whatever enthusiasm exists for Alfas hasn't made it's way onto the web, and into English.

In fact, even the Wikipedia—which is usually something of a boon for those seeking information on obscure car models (see DMC-12 and BMW Z1)—only has spots of information on Alfa.

So, I'll give you what I can. It would be nice to back up my statements with some cold facts (and I love reading about automotive history anyway), but since most of my article focuses on design, it isn't strictly necessary.

First, though, I'll start with the Alfa with which most Americans are most familiar: the Spider.

The Spider is, in my opinion, a bizarre little vehicle. Alfa reportedly had Pininfarina do the original coachwork design. At its introduction in 1966 it echoed the now-legendary but then-5-year-old Jaguar E-type in what amounted to an underpowered small roadster chassis. I remember reading a report that the original Spiders managed 60mph in something like 16 seconds. The early bodies, in specific, suffered from ridiculous amounts of drag due to the wedge tail, as seen in the photo above.

Thankfully, Alfa fixed the tail in 1969. And, they continued to fix other bits and pieces until production ceased—in 1994.

Besides the tail, Alfa did not make any major changes to the coachwork on the Spider between 1969 and 1994. However, the last models that rolled off the line in 1994 look fantastically goofy.

I'm not sure if you can tell the difference, but it jumps out at me immediately: the doors on the late model look hilariously tiny. This ruins the entire effect of the car. Compare with the first photo to see what I mean. Whereas the 1967 looks remarkably proportional, the 1994 looks like a clown car.

And you know what does it? Nothing more than the size and placement of the wing mirror and the door handle. That's it.

I use this example because I think it's a fantastic introduction to how small details can ruin a car—and, plus, it deals with Alfas.

Because I want to end up talking about the model du jour (or rather, model d'hier) I'm going to switch to modern Alfas.

Spider notwithstanding, Alfas have almost always been about exquisite design. I don't want anyone to get confused about the word choice here, either: I didn't say phenomenal or groundbreaking. Alfa Romeo has always built cars that have timeless beauty—and often times, a good deal of that beauty comes from understatement.

Example: The Alfa 166. The 166 is a large semi-luxury car, positioned in approximately the same market as the low-trim BMW 5 Series and the Audi A6. The point is that it's fantastically executed. Even without loads of trim, this is a terribly handsome car.

It reminds me immensely of the professionalism of the E39 5 Series. It's not garish, and it's not imposing. It's the type of car that's never going to outdated. Fantastic.

While I'm on the topic, I'd like to mention the 147 GTA, as well. Another fantastically executed design. And the thing is that even though it uses nearly exactly the same styling cues as the BMW 1 Series, it's a monumentally more coherent design.

I'm very disappointed that car isn't coming stateside. I'd buy two. And a new set of rims for each. Where did they get those phonedials, from Porsche?

But enough of that. The real topic of this post is the Alfa Romeo GTV.

My background research on the GTV hasn't yielded much in the way of actual facts. As far as I can tell, the GTV has been called a number of different names—the Sprint, the Giulia, the Giulietta, the GTV, the GT Veloce, and so forth. Additionally, the GTV name was used on the model in question as well as a newer "Alfa Romeo GTV" and the surprisingly popular Alfetta GTV/GTV6 of the late 1970s and early 1980s.

Don't be confused. The car I'm referring to was built in the 1960s and early 1970s and is, in my opinion, one of the most phenomenally penned cars of all time.

Honestly, I'm struck every time I see this car. It's going to take a very long time for me to get over it.

Now, the GTV is very closely related to the GT Junior (also called the GT 1300, etc.) built around the same time. Although the GT Junior does not feature the GTV's quad headlamps, it does have a much busier front fascia (as the turn signals were positioned above the bumper). Additionally, it's got a smaller engine.

To be honest, these are minor details—both the GTV and the GT Junior share the same timeless shape. Given a choice between the two, I'd take the GTV, but only because it's quicker and will appreciate better.

But, back to the design.

Instead of spelling everything out in one long paragraph, I've prepared three charts which discuss the pertinent design cues of the GTV. I recommend you click on them if you actually want to read the text.

I think the charts really do present the best explanation for why this car looks phenomenal.

Now, I'm not saying this car is perfect—in fact, it has some glaring flaws. The rear end looks like something of a rolling Alfa marquee and has been spattered with more chrome candy than a 1953 Cadillac. It looks like the designers were too enthusiastic to mirror the fantastic front fenders with the rear fenders, and the result is a somewhat anemic looking rear clip. And the front marker lights—the orange ones perched just below the crease on the fenders—nearly kill the look of the entire front end. This last one is a particular problem in the US—the models we got have ridiculous square reflectors. I don't like them.

To sum up, I've absolutely fallen in love with the looks of the Alfa Romeo GTV, and I'm looking to buy one as soon as I can manage. And even though I generally despise red cars, the GTV is one of the few that can wear the color very very well.

But, is it a perfect car? No. It's probably underpowered and even the fantastic looks have some serious irrepairable flaws. I suspect that I'll end up paying around six or eight grand for one that isn't in fantastic shape, and it's not going to appreciate as quickly as something a bit rarer or in nicer condition.

But would I want it to be perfect? Not really. The fantastic thing about the GTV is that it's never been a perfect car—not even in design, not even when it was produced. It's exquisite because it's the kind of car that nobody has posters of hanging on their wall when they're ten. For me, it's the sort of brilliance you can only ever find in a car that's not designed to make actors and rock stars shell out giant stacks of hundreds to get a copy—the Alfa Romeo GTV is brilliant because it's among the sharpest looking cars that will never get any real attention.