Alfa Romeo 4C Coupe: six stars but don’t drive it

The Alfa Romeo 4C Coupe is a terrible car. And yet I completely adored it.

Carsguide 7922m - Alfa 4C Coupe Picture: Supplied

A number of years ago, a writer on the hysterically earnest motoring magazine Autocar said in a review of some supercar or other that it caused “absolute mayhem” when he parked it in a supermarket carpark.

Hmm. I’m not sure his definition of absolute mayhem is quite the same as mine. Because in my quite extensive experience no supercar causes people to run screaming for their lives or to throw a milk bottle full of petrol at a policeman. And no. Not even the lowest, yellowest, loudest Lamborghini makes people rush into a petrol station kiosk and start helping themselves to the sweets before killing the cashier and burning it down.

In Italy a small crowd of admirers may gather, but elsewhere the only reaction you get is from small boys who clutch excitedly at their tinkles. That’s not absolute mayhem in my book.

But it must be said that the Alfa Romeo 4C coupe did cause something of a stir. In London, where most people wouldn’t look twice if Harrison Ford bounced down the road on a space hopper, women would stop halfway across zebra crossings for a better look. Bus passengers would reach for their phones. Motorists would applaud.

It was a long way from absolute mayhem but I can tell you this: I’ve never driven any mainstream road car that generated quite such an outpouring of affection. Not ever. It was like I was whizzing about in a reincarnated blend of Gandhi and Diana, princess of Wales.

The reason people like it is simple: it’s sporty and interesting and different but it’s not even slightly threatening. Think of it as a Ferrari puppy. Sadly, however, there are a few issues with the actual car. Where do I start? With the steering wheel, which would be dismissed as “too plasticky” by the makers of those penny-in-the-slot cars you find outside suburban chemist shops? How about the problem of getting out after you’ve parked? Put simply, it’s like being calved. And the width: this car is so wide it won’t even fit in a standard parking bay. Even if you do shoehorn it into a space, you will then be able to open the doors only the merest crack, which makes getting out even more difficult. Realistically, you get into this car once, and that’ll be that.

Other things. Well, the boot lid won’t stay up by itself. There is almost no rear visibility. The switchgear is so flimsy it makes the steering wheel look like a Faberge egg. There’s a draught from the bottom of the doors as you drive along, and it’s as luxuriously appointed as a Presbyterian beach hut.

“Aha,” I hear you say, “but I bet it’s an absolute joy to drive.” Nope. It may have a carbon-fibre tub, the sort of thing you find in a Formula One car or a McLaren P1, and it may be so light that it can make do with a tiny turbocharged 1742cc engine, but the steering is inert, and not power assisted, and the brakes lack any feel. You have to use muscle memory to decide how quickly you want to stop.

And then there’s the noise. Oh my god. Around town it’s fun. It snuffles and roars and farts but I had to drive up the M1 to the Midlands and by the time I reached Watford, I’d had enough. I started to understand how General Noriega must have felt when the Americans bombarded him with volume. I just wanted to get out. But as we know, that’s not possible.

I have driven the 4C before in Italy and was assured that its alarming tendency to follow the camber would be solved in Britain by smaller wheels. Well, it hasn’t. Holy cow, it’s frightening. You’re trundling along when suddenly the car will turn left. Or right. There’s no warning at all.

And so there we are. It’s a terrible car, riddled with the sort of faults that every other motoring manufacturer had addressed by about 1972. And yet I completely adored it. Every other vehicle with its perfect refinement and its perfect electrics and its perfectly adjustable suspension cannot help but feel like a machine. Whereas the Alfa, with its flaws and its tendency to go where it wants, feels human.

I may not have enjoyed getting out of the Alfa very much but I loved getting into it because it’s just so exciting to drive a car that has a mind of its own. I’ve driven a few vehicles that made me happy but none of them even gets close to this. It’s a wonderful little package of deep, deep joy.

The problem is that I cannot realistically advise you to buy one. And worse, I could not even buy one myself. Yes, it’s everything a true petrolhead wants in a car but the noise and the veering about and the veterinary operation necessary to get you out would drive me insane.

As a car, it gets two stars: one for having a fabulously clever stereo system and one for being very economical. But as a thing, I’d give it six.

Alfa Romeo 4C Coupe: sports car

Engine: 1.7-litre turbocharged four-cylinder petrol

Outputs: 177kW at 6000rpm and 350Nm at 2200rpm

Transmission: Six-speed dual-clutch automatic, rear-wheel drive

Average fuel use: 6.8 litres per 100km

Price: £51,500 ($89,000) plus on-road costs

Rating: 6 out of 5

Verdict: An unprecedented six stars — but if you’re thinking of buying one, deduct four