Blue genes: the Alpine A290 is a ray of hope for the hot hatch

As a seedling for some of the most loved and least sane hot hatches ever made, the original Renault 5 was prolific. There was the loopy rally homologation, 970kg, mid-engined Turbo 1 in 1978 with a (not so loopy these days) 160bhp from its turbo 1.4-litre engine.

The more mainstream 115bhp GT Turbo that (after a few seconds of lag, natch) boosted onto the hot hatch scene in 1985 and gave modifiers something cheap and readily available to tinker with right through the 1990s and early 2000s.

And the 1976 Renault 5 Gordini (known fittingly as the Renault 5 Alpine everywhere except the UK) that, along with the MkI VW Golf GTI that arrived a couple of months after, helped kickstart the hot hatch movement.

Photography: Mark Riccioni

Renault, or more precisely Alpine – its spicy sub-brand that’s been carved off as a separate entity – wasn’t about to miss out on heritage like that. So mere weeks after first shaking hands with the new 5 in France, we’re in Mallorca finding out whether Alpine, the architect of the sublime featherweight A110 sports car, can turn an EV supermini into a bona fide performance car.

Manufacturers are deserting the hot hatch segment with alarming regularity, so is this the car to introduce the joys of small, nimble and mildly overpowered shopping trolleys to a whole new generation?

We have the range topping FWD 217bhp GTS, aka the one you want, 0-60mph in a Fiesta ST matching 6.4secs. Quick enough for a compact hot hatch, despite weighing 1,479kg – which is both horrifying and commendable, given that’s 200kg lighter than the equivalent Mini Cooper SE. It promises a WLTP range of 236 miles from its 52kWh battery and gets 100kW DC rapid charging capability, enough for 15-80 per cent in 30 minutes. A lower spec GT version with 178bhp is also available from £33,500, although this GTS will cost you £38k.

Styling first because while the overall, stumpy silhouette is shared with the R5, the details are new – 19in wheels, fattened arches, deepened side sills, four lights at the front that riff off the A110, but add crosses to evoke rally cars of old. The charge indicator light on the bonnet has switched to an Alpine ‘A’, the rear door panels are scalloped to recall the R5 Turbo and round the back there’s a deeper diffuser and a strip across the bootlid Alpine is optimistically calling a ducktail spoiler.

Frankly it looks fantastic, if a little fussy next to the cleaner and more obviously retro inspired Renault.

On the inside, similar story. A unique steering wheel with various tricks including an ‘OV’ button that gives you a shortcut to full throttle when you can’t be bothered to flex your right foot. I realise this sounds pointless, and it is, but boosting out of corners using your thumb is a gimmick I’m onboard with. You also get four levels of regen toggled by twisting a switch, and a button to flip between your various driving modes.

Unique seats introduce some proper bolstering, but remain squishy, while the materials, save for a few scratchy plastics around the gearbox buttons, are all unexpectedly premium. Soft to the touch stitched leather and a chunky slab of screen run from behind the wheel to the middle of the dash. This isn’t a stripped out cousin of a Clio Cup, it’s a luxury car with some added zip (thanks to the stronger motor, retuned anti-roll bars, firmer suspension settings and Michelin Pilot Sport 4S tyres developed specifically).

To the racetrack! Where it’s a bit out of its depth – 1,479kg and ‘only’ 217bhp will do that, so we leave the brakes smoking and an array of understeer and oversteer moments in our wake. But stay within the boundaries of physics, preferably on the road, and there’s proper playfulness baked into this car, a willingness for the rear axle to rotate around the front if you turn in with aggression.

You can deploy the full beans without fear of losing your licence 

Acceleration is a satisfying surge, rather than all-out fireworks. Which is a good thing, because unlike most mega bhp performance cars these days, you can actually deploy full beans on the road without fear of losing your licence or ending up backwards in a hedge. Having said that, I suggest turning off the traction control and ESC completely if the road’s dry because wheelspin and a wriggle of torque steer is a crucial part of the hot hatch experience.

What’s not is the general feeling of solidity, quality and comfort. Drive sensibly and you feel the weight and low centre of gravity working in your favour, it feels like a bigger and more grownup car than it actually is. The steering is mostly light and a bit numb, but there’s added value to keeping your foot in thanks to a synthetic soundtrack that crescendos and hardens, then dies back gradually like the revs falling on a ‘proper’ engine. Having no gears to shift unavoidably detracts from your engagement in the process, but there’s enough going on here to justify taking the long way home.

Two distinct sides to its personality then – on one hand a car you could happily commute in every day, enjoying its refinement and how ridiculously easy it is to use. On the other, it’s clearly made by people who were prepared to sweat the finer details, and who know exactly how a hot hatch should behave.

Not an instant classic, like the A110, or with the broader appeal of the £10k less R5, but a ray of hope nonetheless for the future of the hot hatch.