The greatest cars with character, spirit & soul

A reader once wrote the following to us:

“Although cars are better in every objective way than they were only 10 or 15 years ago, being so efficient and competent inevitably comes at the expense of character,” says James Ross. And he was onto something.

“It’s a car’s shortcomings, and the unique compromises that manufacturers were previously obliged to make, that help create character. But such challenging compromises are no longer necessary. Things tend to become more bland as a result. Better, but blander. The price of progress.”

So is there such thing as a car with character anymore? What cars have bucked the trend over the past couple of decades? And what is character, and what defines it? Over to the Autocar road test team to find out:

Peugeot 205 XS

Peugeot 205? It’s almost impossible to mouth those words without adding ‘GTI’. As we often repeat, the 205 GTI is one of the finest hot hatches of all time, never mind the ‘80s. So much so, that it almost completely overshadows the excellence of the 205 itself, and of any variety.

When kitted with the softer, more pliant suspension that suspended every 205 apart from the GTI and CTI cabriolet, this Peugeot reveals itself as distinctly French, and one of the last of a long-running Gallic breed designed to master its nation’s roads rather than being internationalised into blandness. Before the 1990s, cars were more obviously engineered to suit the topography and mindsets of their nations - mostly but not always to advantage.

Peugeot 205 XS

British cars reflected our nation’s tardy motorway construction with their breathless, engine-breaking cruises, and our class-obsessions via chrome and wood. Italian cars were taxed by engine size, unleashing a wave of high-revving, eager machines that sounded faster than they looked. Germany still makes cars for unfettered autobahn charging. French cars needed the same high-speed stability for those fast and dangerous tree-lined Routes Nationale, but a ride pliant enough to cope with battered and sinuous minor roads.

The result? Cars with loads of grip, unwavering stability, a pillow-soft ride and body-roll worthy of a squall-besieged ship. The 205 had all this, though with less of the off-putting (to some) list. It was less extreme in its Frenchness elsewhere, too, being chicly styled and neatly furnished. After the almost willfully ugly charm of the Citroën Ami, Renault 4, Citroën Visa and Renault 12, that was a pleasing surprise.

So was highly entertaining handling, even from the basic 954cc 205 XE. Narrow tyres, the feedback provided by a pliant ride and unassisted steering told you when grip was fading, a mere throttle-lift neatly re-angling the Peugeot’s nose, and without the threat of a GTI-like spin. The best model to enjoy all this in was not the GTI, but the 1.4 XS. Firmer and faster than the XE, softer and more subtly responsive than the GTI, this was the quintessential 205. It proved, and still proves, that fat power, fat tyres and a fat price are not the only way to driving heaven. And that we need more nation in our cars. Richard Bremner

Alfa Romeo 164 Cloverleaf

For me the engine is the crucial factor. My favourite sports car of all time, the entry-level Cayman, has been ruined by the new four-cylinder engine. Actually, not many modern car engines do excite me. The obsession, for emissions reasons, with a flat torque curve has made all engines feel very similar. On top of that there’s the uniformity and predictability. Small cars have small turbocharged engines and big cars have twin-turbo V8s. Engineers, led by marketing people, make them bang and pop because they think that’s what makes a great engine. It takes more than a loud exhaust, too.

I’ll give you an example of a great engine, one that was attached to a car that certainly had a few flaws. I remember going on the launch of this car 29 years ago. I remember the hotel in Yorkshire and I remember the blag (motoring journalist speak for a freebie gift). It was a paperweight with an Alfa Romeo logo on it. The car was the 164 Cloverleaf. We had a 164 long termer at the time, a 2.0-liter Twin Spark. It torque steered like a drunk and its power seats often didn’t work but it sounded good.

Alfa Romeo 164 Cloverleaf

The Cloverleaf had a tuned version of Alfa’s V6. Compression ratio raised to SZ spec (9.5:1 to 10:1) SZ cams and bigger diameter inlet and exhaust manifolds. Old style tuning in other words. The motor only had 200bhp but my God it sounded beautiful. It looked beautiful, too, with chrome intake pipes. Name me a good looking modern engine? Name me one that you can actually see.

Alfa managed to calm down the torque steer in the Cloverleaf by lowering the car by 20mm and dropping the engine on its mounts by half an inch. It still wriggled on acceleration, terribly by modern standards, but it sounded so lovely, had strong enough performance to be exciting, and was a good looking car. Finding a good one today wouldn’t be easy. Its electrics would be part time, especially the volts controlling windows and seats, but the reliable V6 would still be playing its music. Colin Goodwin

Caterham 620S

Character comes in many forms, but all that have it share one thing in common: an ability to stimulate the senses. Character can be derived from providing a feast for the eyes or, in an engine’s timbre, the ears. Or a car can just feel right or even smell right. There are few things capable of imparting a greater sense of well-being than the aroma of Connolly hide in an old Aston or similar.

Hopefully any car of character will present some combination of the above, and it is because modern manufacturers seek perpetually to distance the driver from the sensations of driving that new cars with true character are an increasingly endangered species.

Caterham 620S

It’s not about the money. My proudest possession in my frankly pathetic accumulation of cheap and unimportant old cars is a 1958 2CV, which has more character in its rippled bonnet than most modern supercars have in total. When things get tough I go and drive it because to date I have proven entirely unable to be unhappy and at its wheel at the same time.

It proves also that the greater imparter of character is feel. The more connected you are, the more work the car gives you to do, the more character it will have. Which is why there are no cars of greater character on sale today than those that make up the small British sports car industry. Light, intimate, devoid of driver aids and focussed more on the provision of fun than ultimate lap times, these are cars of ultimate involvement and therefore ultimate character.

As a pure product, I know none better than an Ariel Atom, but Caterhams have an additional character-enhancing historical perspective thanks to their Colin Chapman connection. So that’s what I’d choose if buying a modern car for character alone, Which one? Probably a 620S. Because I’m an idiot. Andrew Frankel

Alfa Romeo GTV V6

I often hear people say a car’s character comes from its foibles. Bobbins. For a new car at least, character comes from the things it does well. A rich soundtrack, good steering feel, exciting power delivery, sweet chassis balance and so on can all cultivate character in a car, whereas bad reliability, a wonky seating position or a clunky gearshift - foibles, if you like - simply make that car worse and, I would argue, less characterful.

But something strange happens with the passing of time. As a car gets older we stop thinking about it in the very harsh context of its immediate rivals and judge it instead on its own merit. Accordingly, its weaknesses don’t bother us so much any more.

Alfa Romeo GTV V6

So as a car gets older, you enjoy it for the things it does well and turn a blind eye to the things it doesn’t do so well. That’s why I could see myself buying a £3000 Alfa Romeo GTV V6 one day. The seating position is a bit rubbish and it doesn’t really handle, but I would still enjoy it because it’s a rare sight, it looks achingly pretty (to my eyes) and it has a wonderful V6 engine.

I’ll never agree that foibles give a car character. That’s far too generous. But I do think that as a car gets older, its foibles no longer smother whatever character that particular car has. So it is that an older car can be flawed and full of quirks, and still be shot through with character. Dan Prosser

Saab 900 Turbo Convertible

Five years back, I took a trip to Amsterdam with a group of mates. Four days were well spent taking in the the local culture - which typically meant walking from one bar to the next, sampling said watering hole’s wares. It was great. The only trouble was, I returned to the UK with a bit of an itch.

Well, not that sort of itch. But while meandering through the narrow, cobbled streets - resplendent as they were in the crisp, autumnal sunshine - I came across a car that I’ve had something of a hankering for ever since.

I can’t quite explain why I’ve become somewhat infatuated with this particular model. I’d like to say it was the picturesque setting, but was more likely a case of beer goggles. Anyway, the car I now pine after, and would put my money towards (if I had any), is a Saab 900 Turbo convertible. One from around 1993, or 1994. You know, with the square headlights.

Saab 900 Turbo Convertible

Now, I’ve never driven a Saab 900 Turbo convertible before - or any Saab, for that matter - so I’ve no idea whether they’re actually any good. Given the fact that a proper roof is very much absent I’d imagine they’d be fairly wallowy, rather slow old things.

This, then, is a desire born purely out of an attraction based on appearance rather than substance, which is probably a bit risky. After all, if you found yourself out for dinner with your celebrity crush and discovered she had the table manners of a baboon, you’d be inclined to scarper fairly briskly.

But isn’t that ability to capture your imagination and infatuation based on image alone an intrinsic part of what defines or creates a car’s character? I’d surely say it is. And yes, if money were no object, I’d likely buy a Jaguar XJ220 or a McLaren F1, but in the real word, the Saab sounds pretty good to me. Simon Davis

Morgan 3 Wheeler

There is a hands-down undisputed automotive world champion of character, as I see it: the Morgan 3 Wheeler. Nothing does sense of occasion, or provides accessible fun at everyday speeds more vividly – and I’d say both are key creating factors for character in any new car.

Also, very few small, lightweight sports cars are quite as gorgeous in their every detail, or as lovely just to sit and admire on a summer evening, on a wooden bench, with a refreshing drink in your hand. Somehow, I suspect pub garden admiration factor must inevitably play a role in this equation. Because character must be evident when a car’s standing still, surely?

Much as I’d appreciate one, though, I couldn’t drive a Morgan 3 Wheeler most days of the year – and even when the sun’s out, I’m simply too long-legged to get comfortable in one. So I suppose I’m obfuscating; if not that, then what?

Morgan 3 Wheeler

We’ll extend the logic and conclude that practicality and usability aren’t on my ‘willing to compromise’ list – because what good is character in a car you can only actually enjoy a handful of times a year?

I reckon I’d assemble a three-car garage of eccentrics, and first on the driveway would be a BMW i3: because they’re great fun to drive, superb in urban traffic, utterly distinctive, and they prove beyond doubt that electric cars can be characterful too. Next, an Alpine A110: because it might be the next best thing to the Morgan at making every single mile memorable – and yet I could actually use it.

Finally, something practical enough to get the kids into but dripping with old-school charm that won’t be around much longer: an Aston Martin Rapide S – the last of the atmospheric V12 Astons. One to treasure – and never to rush around in. Matt Saunders

Mazda RX-7

I remain unconvinced that a car can have character any more than a coffee table can, but I think I know what we’re talking about here. And I’m probably as guilty of calling cars ‘characterful’ as the next person.

But if a car can have character traits, then ‘being boring’ is one, isn’t it? “What’s Prior like?” “Boring.” Hey. It’s my character. Live with it. Or don’t. Whatever. I’m not your Dad.

Anyway, I distinctly remember a drive I took in a Toyota Avensis, in about 1998, from London Colney to Watford, on a Friday night. It was the most relaxing, smoothest car journey I’d then ever made. Entirely memorable simply because of its tremendous forgettability. But is a late 1990s Toyota Avensis bustling with character? Good God no.

Mazda RX-7

So by ‘character’ do we mean ‘massive flaws’? In which case, the Tata Safari is the most characterful car I’ve ever driven, simply because it was so appalling. But no, we probably don’t mean that either.

We mean something, unusual, odd, perhaps worse than the norm, perhaps better, but either way, so endearing and novel that we like it, right? The Mazda RX-8’s engine. The Ariel Nomad’s ride. The Chrysler PT Cruiser’s design and it’s funky pool-ball gearknob. The Aston Martin V12 Vantage S’s steering and handling. The BMW i3’s absolutely everything except its power delivery.

But it’s still a weird question. What’s the most characterful car I want from the past two decades? Frankly I’ve no idea. But the cars I have wanted most have included that V12 Vantage S, the Rolls-Royce Phantom, the Honda NSX-R and the Alfa Romeo SZ. Chuck in the Holden Efijy and we could call it the world’s most characterful five-car garage.

But I can't afford any of them and if I tried I could just about afford a late '90s Mazda RX-7. So that'll do. Matt Prior

Alpina B5 Touring

As my colleagues have I’m sure alluded to, when it comes to cars the possession of ‘character’ is about rather more than lurid noises, swooping curves and only a loose notion of what the term reliability entails. Those sorts of things can certainty induce our affection, and awe, but there’s a reason why neither the Audi R8 V10 Plus (noises) nor Ferrari’s Portofino (curves) float my boat.

These coveted machines simply don’t feel particularly comfortable in their skin, and just like people that makes them harder to like because there’s a basic honesty missing, intentionally or otherwise. The R8 is a sports car contrived by way of its magnificent engine to pose awkwardly as a supercar that it simply is not. The dramatic-looking Portofino attempts to marry the virtues of riviera cruiser and hyper-alert sports car with little success. What exactly are you?

Alpina B5 Touring

It’s a similar story with the new Polo GTI: competent, very quick but never really buys into the stoked-up supermini thing. Audi A7: surprisingly loveable were it not for its poor secondary ride. Porsche 718 Cayman: raison d'être unforgivably impaled by a more ‘efficient’ engine. These cars lack conviction.

Cars that are intrinsically fit for purpose are characterful not only because proficiency is attractive but because they are more up front about their weaknesses. An Alpine A110 feels a bit ropey inside but it’s light as a feather. The driver is an afterthought in a Huracán Performante but it hardly matters because everything about that particular Lamborghini screams ‘mentale!’. Just as it should. It’s why we were all very fond of the Skoda Yeti, why we like a Golf, and it’s why the realisation you’re experiencing a touch more suspension float in an Alpina B5 Touring than you might in a BMW M5 is actually quite a nice thing. Richard Lane

Citroën 2CV

Secretly, deep down, the one thing that has always made a car seem special to me is its ability to provide a great deal of function with a minimum of sophisticated hardware. I’ve written plenty over the years about expensive and complex cars, but that love of simplicity is why my ownership past is so littered with 2CVs, Lotus, Westfield and Caterham cars, motorbikes, microlight aeroplanes, Minis and other cheap stuff.

It’s also why our household 53-plate Citroën Berlingo - worth the same £1500 it has been commanding for the past five years - still sticks enjoyably around. The ride, steering and carrying capacity are simply better than some cars costing 20 times as much. It’s why my eyes lit up today when they fell on an a superb 1.3-liter Vauxhall Chevette low-miler in the classifieds: I could see myself preening with pride at The Festival of the Unexceptional, fast approaching.

Citroën 2CV

For me, power, speed and price can be turn-offs, especially if they encourage antisocial behaviour. I like performance, but aggression and road-hoggery are things I’ve long ago learned to hate. Machines that achieve 80% of the function with 30% of the gadgetry/technology get me going more now than ever before, though truth be told they always did.

Beyond all this I think character is often conferred on a car by some capability that’s simply out of kilter with its surrounding characteristics. The way a Citroën 2CV grips, versus its unlikely body-roll and its even more unlikely tyre section, spells character. The way the latest 1.0- to 1.2-liter three-cylinder engines propel quite big-bodied cars - with amazing willingness and “junior Ferrari” engine notes - also do plenty for me. Steering, ride, engine response: if they greatly exceed the norm, the car has character.

Especially if the looks are pleasantly weird. That’s the icing on the cake. Steve Cropley