A fascination with feisty French hot hatches

The Clio RS200 is in a rich lineage of hot hatches. Courtesy Renault

I love hot hatches – especially French ones. Sure, the Germans make some very accomplished ones, and Alfa Romeo and Honda have ensured the Italians and Japanese are represented as well. But, if you ask me, no one has turned out more electrifying and grin-inducing fast hatchbacks than the country more widely recognised as a purveyor of fine cheeses and haute ­couture.

Volkswagen may claim to have invented the hot-hatch genre with the iconic Mk1 Golf GTI back in 1976 (conveniently ­ignoring the Mini Cooper S that preceded it), but it was Peugeot and Renault that escalated it into an art form with the likes of the 205 GTI and Clio Williams respectively. Sadly, Peugeot lost the plot thereafter, with only the 1990s 306 GTI-6 showing much in the way of panache.

Fortunately, Renault didn’t lose its magic touch with hot hatches – even though its mainstream sedans and hatchbacks became progressively duller. This was mostly because the go-faster RS versions of its Clio and Megane are finessed at the company’s Renault Sport sub-division in Dieppe. The geniuses there ­obviously know a thing or two about chassis dynamics and suspension tuning, because the cars they’ve created over the years are simply ­sublime.

I’m prepared to put my money where my mouth is with this last statement. Indeed, I already have, because the last two cars I’ve owned were both Renault Sport Clios. The first of these was a silver-grey 2006 Mk2 Clio 182 Cup with factory-standard gunmetal-grey alloys, and it was followed by a liquid-yellow 2009 Mk3 Clio F1 R27, liveried with showy yet not distasteful decals commemorating the marque’s Formula One success in 2005 and 2006 in the hands of Fernando Alonso.

Much as I admired the Clio R27’s staggering grip and poise, it was the playful, pint-sized Clio 182 Cup that truly won my heart. The driving position may have been conceived with an ape in mind – you either sat too close to the pedals or too far from the steering – but this proved a minor annoyance in a car that was, in most other ways, an absolute firecracker.

The potent, free-spinning 2.0L engine was tasked with hauling around a waif-like 1,090 kilograms, so the 182 Cup was constantly straining at the leash to go faster or dart into a minuscule gap in traffic that few other cars could exploit. Best of all was its go-kart-like reflexes. Any tweaks on the tiller yielded ­instant ­results. There was no lag between what happened at the steering wheel and the driving wheels. What’s more, spirited cornering would see the inside rear wheel lifting well clear of the tarmac. I found this most entertaining and amusing, even though I couldn’t actually see it happening from inside the ­cockpit.

The Mk3 Clio F1 R27 that succeeded it in my garage was a much more mature yet less engaging drive. Longer, wider and significantly heavier than its predecessor, it felt more ­securely planted on the road, yet the feisty playfulness of its 182 predecessor was gone. The substantial weight gain had also significantly dulled its acceleration, so much so that I’d have to cane the daylights out of it merely to ensure I wasn’t embarrassed by Camry-pedalling cabbies getting away from the traffic lights.

Sadly, this trend of sapping the character out of its hot hatches to make them more user-friendly for mainstream buyers looks to have gone a step further with the Mk4 Clio RS200 that Renault has just launched in our market. Admittedly, it’s a car I’ve not yet driven, but I don’t think I want to, because the one thing that was always a given with a Clio RS – a conventional manual gearbox – isn’t offered, at all. ­Flappy-shift paddles are all well and good, but you can keep them. Give me a clutch pedal and gearstick, Renault Sport, and while you’re at it, put the undiluted fun factor back into your cars.

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