Words Matteo Lavazza / Photos Bonhams

Do you guys remember the early 2000s? Sometimes it feels like we’re talking about things taking place just a couple of days ago, yet 25 years have gone by. I mean, that’s a quarter of a century, a lifetime ago. Naturally, a lot has changed. Some of us had two major problems back then: a few leftover pimples on our faces and the embarrassment of choosing which hot hatch to show off with our friends — all strictly equipped with heaps of horsepower, loud exhausts and some over-the-top aerodynamic appendage. There were so many options that many Saturday afternoons were spent listing pros and cons, trying to figure out the ultimate car that would keep us company through the best years of our lives.

And then there was it: the 147 GTA. Introduced in 2002, it immediately shook up the automotive world and our little gang so much that it even split us apart: those who would have sold their mothers to get one and those who couldn’t see beyond their Golf, mostly GTI, with the R32 for those who wanted to flex cubic centimeters and all-wheel drive. But Alfa Romeo was telling a completely different story, because when you say GTA, what comes to mind is the 3.2 V6 Busso, an engine worth the price of admission all on its own, part of a ride that wasn’t free of flaws and was often criticized and overlooked. Just the kind of story that, years later, gets rediscovered and wrapped in an inevitable shade of nostalgia.

Looking back now, the 147 GTA should probably be defended as world heritage, if only because putting that much power through the front wheels was a gamble, but one more coherent with the performance philosophy that the 156 GTA never quite managed to hit, because its three-volumes design was begging for rear-wheel drive, something Alfa would only deliver decades later with the Giulia Quadrifoglio. Back to the 147 GTA: Alfa’s engineers did their best to give it a look that hinted at how special the “Gran Turismo Alleggerita” version was, adding a few unique details like a redesigned front bumper, dedicated alloy wheels and twin exhaust tips framed by a slightly modified rear bumper compared to a random 147.

The same goes for the interior, with the exception of the extraordinary seats, a triumph of stitching that blended sober elegance with the sportiness needed to keep your backside firmly in place through corners. And if you looked closely, the tachometer would give you a clue: with an 8,000-rpm redline, this was no joke. Some would call it the most classic of hot hatches, just an ordinary compact car with a couple of visual and mechanical tweaks, but nothing could be further from the truth. The thing is, when Italians set their minds to something, they have a way of doing it that’s hard to match and the 147 GTA is proof of that. It wasn’t just a hot hatch, it was a thoroughbred sports car that, had it been born a few years later, might well have been called the car of the century.

First of all, the Busso V6 was both blessing and curse of the entire GTA project. On the one hand, it delivered instant throttle response, unlike the turbo engines of that primitive era and had ridiculous midrange punch; on the other hand, it only gave its best when revved high. Peak torque of 300 Nm kicked in at 4,800 rpm and in that window stretching to the 6,200–6,500 rpm redline it was pure chaos. The sound was metallic, like the roar of a primitive beast awakened from a long slumber, growing in intensity and making the exhaust vibrate in a way we’re just not used to anymore. Meanwhile, its 250 hp (at a time when the ubiquitous VW Golf GTI Mk5 had only 200) pushed you into what was the true essence of driving a GTA. The acceleration wasn’t just about numbers: it took about 6.3 seconds (actually, a bit more) to hit 100 kph, channeling the road straight into your spine.

The gearbox — the only real one to consider — was a 6-speed manual (some units got a sluggish Magneti Marelli sequential), precise and called upon no more than necessary, since it was mostly about managing the dialogue between the Busso’s torque curve and the front axle’s monumental struggle to put the power down through the bends. Its 1,335 kg curb weight was respectable, but to get the best from the GTA you had to completely rethink your approach to sporty driving, especially if you were used to modern hot hatches that slingshot you out of tight corners with a simple push on the throttle. Here, the naturally aspirated delivery combined with the lack of a limited-slip diff made purists turn up their noses, but today it’s precisely this need to adapt to its “flawed” nature that makes it rewarding. Sure, the chassis wasn’t the most sports-focused, the weight balance was skewed (the Busso was no lightweight four-cylinder turbo), and understeer — especially with traction control off — was dramatic. But none of that stopped it from being fast and fun.

Let’s put it this way: some say substance comes before form, but with the 147 GTA it was the exact opposite. First came the emotions, the will to create something absolutely special and then you ended up with something imperfect, but irresistibly charming. Young me was torn: I loved the idea of popping the hood and watching my friends drool over the Busso’s manifolds, but I was also aware of the running costs of a 3.2 and, more importantly, that the guy with the Golf GTI would make me eat some dust 9 times out of 10, despite having 50 fewer horses. I was young, clueless and didn’t know how certain things would work. Today I’d have no doubts.

More than 20 years later, the 147 GTA is still being talked about, its dynamic flaws and design compromises softened by time, while many of its period rivals are now just old cars. This one though is something grand, a bold gamble that never quite got the recognition it deserved and that today, in the blandness of the modern era, with hot hatches that can be counted on one single hand, makes us feel guilty for ever focusing on its flaws instead of just how much joy it brought behind the wheel.