Non, non, non, Renault
Just like a punk band gone easy listening, the Clio RS 200 has lost its edge. What a shame
GREEN Day used to be a brilliant band. Back when I was a geek in high school they ruled the roost with their modern interpretation of punk rock. They took that anti-establishment sound first sparked by motley crews such as The Clash and The Sex Pistols and upped its amperage by blending in a harder, post-grunge edge. And it rocked the casbah all over again. Albums like Dookie and Nimrod still sound as awesome as they did when the Sony MiniDisc was big news and Apple seemed to be on the brink of extinction. Then the inevitable happened. The dudes grew older, had kids, discovered left-wing politics and started chasing money instead of innovation.
Essentially they bought a one-way ticket down life’s mainstream to that safe little port of Mass Appeal. So now all we get are weak collaborations with U2 and emo pop ditties designed purely to smudge the eyeliner of hormonal teenage girls. This is a phenomenon
They bought a one-way ticket to that safe little port of Mass Appeal
known as selling out, and it’s the killer of all things unique. A longtime curse of the music industry, it’s now starting to affect the automobile. Cars like the Renault Clio RS 200 EDC.
When I started this job in 2008 the very first car I got my mitts on was the previous generation RS 200. And I absolutely loved it. I loved it because it was built from the ground up to be an uncompromised street racer of the highest order. It shipped with a rock-hard suspension system that would shatter your bollocks but also reward your spirit with sports-car-like handling. The cabin was cheap and basic and fitted with hardly any electrical doodads — not great for impressing girls but excellent for keeping down weight (remember, lighter equals faster).
What thrilled me most was that engine. A French screamer with the lungs of an opera singer, it could rev right up to 7 600rpm. Connected to a snicky sixspeed gearbox, it was loud and raw and more visceral than cars twice its price. I made damn sure that I drove one every year. And every time I did, even in the murky twilight of its life, I was astounded by its genius.
So where does this new one lose the plot then? Well not in the aesthetics de- partment. Painted an offensive shade of Fukushima Fallout yellow, the RS 200 is a looker. Yes, it carries an extra pair of doors (the previous car made do with one), but the overall shape of the thing is real easy on the eye. Those large black alloys, bulbous wheel arches, a front spoiler inspired by Formula One — all these endow it with serious presence. It’s a hatchback that seeks attention. It’s also one that knows how to handle. I’ve driven sports cars that cannot match this Clio’s affinity for curves.
No, the disappointment rushes in when you finger that start button and get introduced to the engine. To keep the Eco Police happy, Renault has substituted that glorious 2.0 engine of old for a humdrum 1.6 turbocharged motor nicked from the Nissan Juke. And in doing so they’ve stripped this car of all its soul.
Before, a Clio RS would tear your ears like James Brown at the Apollo Theatre; now it just drawls along lazily like some smacked-up Lou Reed impersonator. To try to get around this, Renault fitted the car with an app called RSound Effect. And what it does is pipe artificial engine noises through the sound system — everything from a Clio V6 and Alpine A110 right through to a Moto GP bike and Nissan GT-R. This is simply the automotive equivalent of lip-syncing, a complete sham.
Then there’s that dual-clutch gearbox. Sure, it shifts marginally quicker than any human could, but it further removes you from the driving experience. Think more virtuality, less reality. Renault also hooked it up to ridiculous paddle shifters mounted on the steering column rather than the steering wheel — a nightmare when it comes to changing gears through tight bends. If I had a euro for every time I hit the windscreen wiper stalk instead of a paddle, I would be a wealthy man.
Equally annoying is the fact that this car no longer comes equipped with racespec Brembo front brakes — a longtime Clio RS 200 trademark. To compensate, Renault has installed gimmicks like RS Drive as well as a fiddly Android infotainment hub filled with Bluetooth and satellite navigation and overcomplicated telemetry systems nobody will ever use.
Don’t get me wrong — this is not a bad car. It’s refined and grown-up and easy to live with on a daily basis. Which means that Renault will ultimately move more stock and turn a greater profit. Good for them. Unfortunately by selling out, by substituting rebellion with conformity, the RS 200 has, like Green Day post American Idiot, lost all the magic that once made it truly great.