Just enough, plus a bit
It can’t live with the others for straight-line speed but that’s not the point. It’s a momentum car
‘ Excuse me,’ asks the man who’s just driven back and forth three times to take a closer look at the Alpine, ignoring the gold-wheeled M2, the supercar-shaped Lotus and the Very Green Porsche, ‘Can I just ask – what type of car is this?’
There’s so much that’s utterly beguiling about the A110, whether you’re a fully anoraked car bore or a casual passer-by. It looks dainty in this company; even the Cayman appears oversized next to it. Its dimensions are closer to the classic car it’s styled after than most modern-day performance cars. If the regular A110 feels a bit like a classic to drive too, the A110S is more of a restomod. Introduced last year, it sits on wider tyres and lower, firmer suspension, and power is boosted (literally, with another 0.4 bar) by 39bhp to 288bhp. If you love the regular car but find it a bit too soft for its own good and wish it had a bit more precision, and a bit more poke, the S is the Alpine for you. The regular A110 could compete with the Cayman for charm, and came close for dynamism; the S gives its handling the extra accuracy to take it on squarely.
The inquisitive bloke’s eyes glazed over halfway through that explanation and he’s sidled away, so we’d better go for a drive. You feel the firmer suspension immediately. Springs and anti-roll bars are both dramatically stiffened over the standard A110, which breathes with the road just as sweetly as the magic-carpet Lotus. The A110S feels rather brittle by comparison. It’s a mite less forgiving than the Cayman with the Porsche’s adaptive dampers’ ‘normal’ mode but the Cayman is a touch tougher in Sport. (The Alpine and Lotus ride on passive rather than electronically controlled dampers.) Stiff as the A110S is, it isn’t a deal breaker; you could live with it, and some hot hatches are firmer still.
Compared with the regular turbo flat-four Porsche 718, the Alpine’s turbo four is a nicer engine to drive, despite its smaller size and less exotic in-line layout. Compared to the 4.0-litre flat-six, however, it doesn’t quite have the character to compete. It makes a pleasantly rorty sound and you get some intake and turbo whooshes from behind your head but it’s not an engine that stays in your memory banks the way the other three here do. Great throttle response, though, thanks to torque spread more broadly in the S than the standard A110, from 2000rpm all the way to 6400rpm. It feels more responsive than the Cayman, even if it can’t hit as hard.
It’s ironic that the pure A110S is the only car here without a manual gearbox. The twin-clutch unit is a little less involving than a three-pedal Alpine would be (what a tantalising thought that is), but the reasons for making the A110 auto-only outweighed those of a manual option, including extra cabin space. That said, the Alpine feels the most cramped inside of the quartet, and the awkward-to-reach space where the gear linkage would have been is about all there is for cockpit stowage space (not that you buy a sports car for places to put things). Like the Cayman, it has two boots, front and rear, but they’re much smaller and the rear one warms your luggage more than the Porsche (but doesn’t cook it as thoroughly as the Evora). While you could daily drive the Cayman and the M2, the Alpine and the Lotus feel more like weekend cars.
The Alpine can’t live with the Evora and the Cayman for straight-line speed, and certainly not the M2, but that’s not what the A110S is about. It’s a momentum car, and you can carry a great deal of speed with minimal effort, dipping into its always-on torque reserves and using weight transfer in fast corners to help it up onto its toes, merrily shimmying and sashaying its way along B-roads.
As much fun as the Cayman? It’s close; very close. The Alpine drives and handles beautifully, but for my money the Cayman controls its vertical movements a bit more fluidly and telegraphs its limits with greater clarity, helped by its more neutral weight distribution (the A110S concentrates its mass a little more to the rear).
There are a few quality niggles, especially next to the Porsche and BMW. The seatbelt slips down my collarbone as the little strap on the seat that guides it has broken, and some of the ergonomics are questionable (electric window switches the same position, texture and shape as the handbrake switch, for example). It has more of a toy-like feel than the other cars here. Which is fine, given that it’s such a captivating plaything.
There’s so much inherently right and good and vital about the Alpine that I’d completely understand if you made like the bloke in Horncastle, ignored the other three and flocked straight to it. ⊲