Deciding the golden age of the motor car is up for hot debate, but as a child of the 1990s, few machines hold the same magic for me as the ones built in the decade of my teenage years.
These were golden times when, unburdened by legislation, manufacturers could build (almost) exactly the cars they wanted. Hot hatches weighed the same as a featherweight sportscar today, particulate filters didn't muffle engine notes, needlessly high gearing wasn’t needed to pass emissions tests, and the threshold of performance was that bit lower so even proper performance cars could be explored on the road. Heady times, indeed. So, join us as we take on the thankless task of choosing some of the best cars born in one of motoring's best decades: these are the ten best road cars from the 1990s.
The 1990s was arguably the most significant decade in Porsche's history, ten years that saw it ditch its iconic air-cooled motors, a staple of the brand since its 1931 inception, for water cooling. The enthusiasts were up in arms; gone was the gravely noise, low weight and relative simplicity of the air-cooled engines, swapped with the smoother, more powerful but heavier and less characterful (and reliable) water-jacketed replacements.
As the last air-cooled 911, this makes the 993 so special. Ugly roof gutters notwithstanding, the 993 looks fantastic; its tiny proportions dreamy next to the hulk of a modern 911. Its steering was chatty and incisive, body roll was kept in check despite its compliant ride, and the multi-link rear end cured the 911's tendency to leap out with no warning. Its 285PS (210kW) is nothing special by modern standards, but matched to a sub-1,400kg the car's performance (5.3 seconds to 60mph, 171mph top whack) is plenty for the road. Of course, ergonomically, the 993 was a disaster, and while it was incredibly well-built, the assembly costs almost put Porsche out of business. Ultimately, that's why it had to go.
When Honda (or Acura as pictured here) set out to build the NSX, it did so with typical Japanese pragmatism. It didn't want to make the prettiest, fastest, loudest or most powerful machine. Instead, Honda built a supercar that you could use every day, and everything else played second fiddle. It was a decision that shaped the design of every supercar since then. Before the NSX, you didn't expect your mid-engined Ferrari to start on the key, to have decent paint and consistent panel gaps, an interior that could stand the test of time, an alarm that only sounded for genuine reasons and a boot that could swallow a briefcase.
But Honda showed all that was possible and for much less than the price of your crumbling Ferrari. None of which would have mattered if the Honda wasn't also a fabulous supercar. My experience with the NSX was all too brief, a fleeting exposure when the press car wasn't going through one of its many rebuilds (Tiff Needell always said there was something inherently wrong with the handling on the absolute limit). But, pointed up a runway, staring through the deep windscreen, clutching the thin-rimmed steering wheel and hearing the scream as the VTEC came on sing, it felt as pivotal as when it launched in 1990.
Sticking the Peugeot 106 Rallye on this list – its featherweight and unassisted steering make it something of a novelty these days – would be the natural thing to do here, but back in the 1990s, it was the 106 GTI grabbing all the headlines (and many a Max Power cover).
The GTI's 16 valves and power steering, not to mention its central locking and electric windows, made it the one to have for performance-hungry petrolheads looking to take their first tentative steps on the hot hatch ladder. But the GTI's on-paper performance was doubtless its most significant selling point because a tall first and second gear meant Peugeot's pocket rocket could get from 0-60mph in 7.4 seconds (much quicker than a Rallye), blowing past 120mph on the way to its 127mph V-Max. Not only that, like the Rallye, the GTI was so happy to get its tail out you'd swear it was rear-wheel drive. A price tag that undercut that of a mid-spec Ford Escort seals the Pug's place in the hot hatch hall of fame.
It wasn't just Honda that helped rewrite how Ferrari made its supercars – the more usable 355 a direct response to the NSX. Simultaneously, Ferrari, with a little help from one Michael Schumacher, was rethinking how it built its big GTs, and the 550 was the result. Ferrari took the same approach to building the 550 as it did to the 355, turning its long-nosed leviathan into a car that could handle the everyday.
Back in the day, the 550 was (briefly) maligned for looking like a high-end (proper) Toyota Supra, but no one complained about the Ferrari's new-found, Japanese-like love for build quality that gave the GT integrity befitting of its £150,000 price tag. More interestingly, the 550 represented Ferrari's first foray into electronics with two-stage traction control that made this bucking stallion as intimidating as a purring pussy cat. Wizardry that's key to the Ferraris of today. Even the 550's muffled exhaust couldn’t take the edge of its personality. But anyone doubting the 550's effectiveness need only look at the stats; it had a 480PS (353kW) 5.5-litre V12 that was good for 199mph.
My rush to praise the NSX for its maker's eye for build quality feels like a major case of 'positive' stereotyping when we come to the Nissan Skyline GT-R. Unlike the NSX, the Skyline was as mad as a box of frogs, representing a route-and-branch rebuild of the sportscar rulebook. Rather than beating the Europeans at their own game a la the NSX, here, Japan went its own way. Even the GT-R's marketing was new; we only knew about it because of the Sony Playstation blockbuster Gran Turismo.
But the GT-R could do its own marketing, juggling power around all four of its driven wheels like no other car could; it was a 1990s enigma. Too much understeer? Then, entirely unintuitively, stamping on the gas sent power rearward and converting understeer to oversteer. Too much oversteer? Worry not, keep your foot welded to the floor and let the electronics sort out the rest. Some naysayers said the GT-R lacked the interaction of a traditional sports car, but the fact was, you had to be in something very special to beat a GT-R on track. Only the Nissan's humble exterior styling and plastic fantastic interior meant very few people knew exactly what it could do.
Normal-ish is exactly what the uninitiated might think of the Lotus Carlton at first glance, looking as it does much like the Vauxhall upon which it was based, certainly by the be-scooped and big-winged standards of today’s super saloons. GM had bought Lotus in 1987 and its then CEO Mike Kimberley suggested to his new overlords a mutually beneficial brand-building exercise similar to the Lotus Cortinas of the 1960s. It would also get its own Lotus type number, 104.
Vauxhall Carltons/Opel Omegas were taken off the assembly line in Germany and sent to Hethel where their straight-six engines were enlarged to 3.6-litres and gained two intercooled Garrett T25 turbochargers, raising output to 382PS (281kW) and 568Nm (419lb ft), both well in excess of the contemporary BMW M5. Suspension and brakes were likewise reworked by Lotus and power fed to the rear wheels via a Corvette ZR-1 sourced six-speed manual. A supercar-slaying saloon with a top speed above 180mph prompted much predictable hand wringing among the Daily Mail classes – the newspaper tried to have it banned – but even the motoring press thought it excessive, calling for its top speed to be restricted.
The Ur-Quattro might have been the first modern performance Audi but it was the car to which it donated its engine that founded the ‘RS’ lineage, and it was built by Porsche. The Stuttgart sports car maker was chosen because Audi at the time lacked the relevant expertise. And as luck would have it Porsche was looking for a new product to replace the Mercedes 500E it had built on its Rossle-Bau production line. And because clearly a fast estate is the best of all things, the Audi 80 Avant was the starting point.
The shells were built by Audi before being sent to Zuffenhausen where they received the brakes, wheels and tyres from a Porsche 968 Clubsport and, for some reason, the wing mirrors from a 964 Turbo. Meanwhile the five-cylinder engine was heavily breathed on with a bigger turbo, intercooler and injectors as well as a new camshaft to produce 315PS (232kW), still the second highest specific output of any Volkswagen Group engine. It would fling the Audi RS2 to 62mph in less than five seconds and to 30mph in 1.5, quicker than a McLaren F1.
The Integra first debuted in the mid-1980s as a sportier and more luxurious variant of the Civic line. A decade later and it was into its third generation, at which point Honda decided to dial the sporty all the way to 11. And as ever with Honda, this was done with impeccable attention to detail and the best kind of engineering nerdiness.
By that we mean a chassis with extra spot welds to increase stiffness, weight taken out thanks to less sound insulation, a ten per cent thinner windscreen, lighter wheels and an engine with an 8,700rpm redline. That engine was a handbuilt 1.8-litre VTEC inline-four with high compression pistons, ported and polished intake and undercut valves. It produced close to 200PS (147kW) and fed power to the front wheels via a close-ratio five-speed gearbox and limited-slip diff. Capable of reaching 60mph in just over six seconds the Integra Type R is still proclaimed the best handling front-wheel drive car of all time.
We’ve written before about cars so bad they killed off their makers but it’s almost impossible to read a modern article about the first generation Lotus Elise without it being dubbed ‘that car that saved Lotus’. Determining whether that is true or not is the scope for a very different and boring article about revenues, profits, losses and taxation of small Norfolk-based engineering firms.
We’re here to talk about the car which had the distinction of being ground-breaking and also utterly faithful to Lotus’ heritage of innovative engineering and lightweight ethos. Extruded aluminium was bonded together to create a stiff, lightweight chassis that relatively simple powertrain components could be bolted into and topped with a Julian Thomson-designed body of absolute rightness. Weighing just 725kg, a 1.8-litre revvy Rover K-series engine was enough for a new generation of drivers to discover the joys of delicate steering and pin sharp handling.
Here’s another one credited with saving its company, although we would probably give that accolade to the Cayenne which appeared in 2003. Actually, what saved Porsche was Toyota, the Stuttgart company consulting the world’s largest car maker for help with cost-cutting and parts sharing. And if you’ve ever wondered why the Boxster and 996 generation 911 share the same nose, now you know.
The Boxster – a portmanteau off ‘boxer’ referencing its flat-six engine and ‘roadster’ for its two-seat, droptop layout – was revealed as a concept in 1993, its design based on the 356 Speedster and 550 Spyders of yore. Mounted amidships were smaller-capacity versions of Porsche’s first water-cooled flat-six which would later appear in the 996. Small, light and relatively simple, the Boxster was an instant hit, becoming Porsche’s bestseller until the Cayenne came along.
List
Best cars
road
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porsche
993
honda
NSX
peugeot
106 GTI
ferrari
550
nissan
Skyline GT-R
lotus
Carlton
audi
RS2
Integra Type R
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