Guilty Pleasures – Maserati Biturbo

By the mid-’70s, things were once again going south for Maserati. Teetering on the edge of bankruptcy for much of its 110-year existence, it has repeatedly proved to be the poisoned chalice that refuses to run dry. Citroën’s acquisition of the firm in 1968 had offered a glimmer of hope, and though the partnership spawned the ultra-exotic (and better in practically every way than the Biturbo) Bora, Khamsin, Merak, and the frankly bonkers SM, these cars were ruinously expensive to produce, ultimately proving too great a strain on Citroën’s purse strings.

To make matters worse, the pesky Oil Crisis of 1973 put paid to the appeal of gas-guzzling supercars. So, with everything going wrong, (again), Maserati was signed over to the Italian state-owned holding company GEPI in August 1975 and placed under the control of Argentinian industrialist and former racing driver Alejandro de Tomaso. (Yes, that de Tomaso.) Over the next few years, (unsurprisingly), Maserati’s fortunes didn’t improve, so de Tomaso did something radical, he took the fight to the Germans.

The plan was to build an affordable sports coupé to rival Mercedes-Benz and BMW, who at this time were at the top of their game. Talk about ambitious… Surely such a goal could never be realised? Well (spoiler alert) it wasn’t. But it did spawn one of the most interesting and innovative models in Maserati’s history – the Biturbo.

Arguably the only car to wear a three-pronged trident that could ever make it into our Guilty Pleasures series, the Biturbo is lumbered with a terrible reputation. Rampant corrosion, poor build quality, lacklustre performance and hopeless unreliability are among the myriad criticisms – many of which are hard to argue against. I’d still buy one in a heartbeat though.

So how could one love such a dreadful car? Well, if we only liked the “good” ones we’d all be driving Nissan Qashqais and the world would be a very dull place. The more masochistic motorists (myself included) care little for a car that actually works more than fifty per cent of the time – and so what if it dissolves before your very eyes when it’s got an interior like Gio Ponti’s living room?

The Biturbo is easy to pick holes in – figuratively and literally – but it’s also a welcome antidote to the guaranteed competence of vastly superior German and Japanese cars. I can think of very few cars I’d sooner be stranded on the side of the road in – and boy does it look elegant on the back of a recovery truck…

It wasn’t exactly a commercial failure either. Granted, de Tomaso’s vision didn’t free Maserati from its financial woes, but his Biturbo was far from unpopular in period. Maserati was synonymous with countless race wins and it was behind some of the most exotic supercars the world had ever seen. Therefore, the idea of an affordable Maserati sports coupé was incredibly appealing. More than 40,000 Biturbos were sold, which was no mean feat for a company that had previously built only a few hundred cars per year.

Lacking the cash to develop any other models, Maserati turned to its badge engineering department, as it would go on to wheel out a succession of subtly rebranded Biturbos over the model’s fourteen years in production. There was the ‘S’, there was the ‘I’, then later the ‘SI’. In a desperate and marginally more creative attempt to modernise, they tried to rename it too, introducing the 222, 422 and 430 – all of which were essentially the same car under the skin – despite what Maserati would have had you believe. There were some interesting variants built upon a shorter chassis as well – namely the Zagato-bodied Spyder and notchback Karif which are two of the most desirable Biturbo derivatives today.

It’s fair to say the model outstayed its welcome, but to look at it a different way, at least Maserati was brave enough to persevere with such an interesting engine for so long. Who’d have guessed Maserati of all manufacturers pioneered twin-turbocharging? A technology the car industry now relies upon and really the sort of thing you’d imagine the Germans or Japanese came up with. Sure, Maserati’s esoteric ninety-degree V6, with its bizarre three- valve-per-cylinder configuration, wasn’t without its issues. And yes, it lacked the outright performance and zeal of its rivals – it was certainly no Busso. But when the stars (briefly) aligned and your Biturbo was behaving itself, it drove rather well – and it made a lovely noise.

The styling was great too. Similarly rectilinear yet (mi dispiace Alfisti) far prettier in my opinion than the contemporary Alfa Romeo 75, the Biturbo’s coupé and saloon variants were a masterclass in elegant three-box design. I dare say it even looks as good as the E30 3 Series BMW it tried to compete with – but no doubt I’ll be left to die alone on that hill. Pierangelo Andreani was behind the original design while a later facelift was masterminded by Marcello Gandini, and Giuseppe Mittino penned the Zagato-built Spyder.

In a display of typically Italian flair, fashion designer Missoni was brought in to design the interior, which was therefore a veritable sinfonia of sumptuous leather, Alcantara, veneers and that iconic Swiss-made LaSalle dash clock.

So, should you buy one? If you have romantic notions of daily driving an ‘80s Maserati, then unless you live within walking/pushing distance of your place of work, a Biturbo probably isn’t a good idea. Year-round use (in the UK at least) isn’t an option either. Cobbled together from low-quality, ungalvanised steel you can almost hear a Biturbo fizzing. That said, it was arguably no worse in that regard than any other ‘80s Italian car. There’s no reason why, with the proper care, a good survivor shouldn’t last another forty years and owners have devised ways to overcome other foibles like the famously flaky electrics. The attrition rate was indeed high, but you can still find a Biturbo and there are ample to choose from on Car & Classic.

So, does the Biturbo deserve its unfortunate reputation? Definitely. The Biturbo lived up to every criticism levelled against it in period. But four decades on, I can’t help thinking that a car so courageous, stylish and technologically significant should really be celebrated. It’s socially acceptable to love the similarly disappointing (and arguably less pioneering) DeLorean thanks to its time-travelling antics, so please, let’s get over the fact it’s a bit rubbish and finally give the Biturbo the recognition it deserves.