11 reasons why the Maserati Bora is the unsung hero of the 70s

And it was about time, too – Maser already had huge success with mid-engined racers, and had watched on while Lamborghini, Ferrari and De Tomaso changed the game with mid-engined road cars in the Miura, Dino and Vallelunga.

Why the holdup? Well, Maserati wasn’t in the best financial position in the late 1960s, so the engineering costs for an entirely new mid-engined model weren’t in the budget until Citroen bought the company in 1968. So by the time the Bora came out in 1971, the rest of the Italian mid-engined brigade had been around for years. De Tomaso had started and stopped production not only of the Vallelunga, but the Mangusta that came after it. Which, it must be said, had a choice of a 4.7 or 4.9-litre V8, just like the Bora came with. And had fully independent suspension, disc brakes and air conditioning, like the Bora – a first for Maserati road cars. And had the same five-speed ZF transaxle. And was designed by the same man. We’re sure that’s just a series of coincidences.

The Bora was the first car Maserati made under the auspices of Citroen. And, as you might expect, used a whole heap of Citroen parts and technology. Now, if any of you are familiar with what Citroen’s deal was in the 1970s, you’ll understand what this means for the Bora.

For those of you who, y’know, don’t spend your days poring over the business practices of a French car company in the 1970s, allow us to explain. In the late Sixties and early Seventies, Citroen’s idea of good business was constant innovation. The idea was that the company had made a name for itself with innovation – like the Traction Avant, for instance – and keeping Citroen at the bleeding edge was the best way to cement its reputation and set itself apart as a manufacturer. The part that this business plan left out is the fact that the brilliant and game-changing Traction Avant bankrupted Citroen, which had to be bought out by Michelin. But let’s not get bogged down in that, right?

So in the Sixties and Seventies, Citroen partnered with NSU to develop rotary engines, bought Panhard, Berliet and Maserati for their experience in their respective fields, came up with all sorts of expensive technology like self-centring hydraulic steering and started co-developing a helicopter. If that wasn’t enough of a budget drain, Citroen also developed four new Maserati models (the Bora, Merak, Khamsin and Quattroporte II) as well as the Citroen CX, GS and otherworldly SM – which also had an otherworldly development cost.

The rotary project failed, killing NSU in the process and costing Citroen roughly every pretty penny it had. Panhard closed its doors, Berliet sold to Renault and died quietly in the 1980s, Maserati went to De Tomaso, and consequently through the nadir of its existence. And the tech-laden SM, which Citroen had expected to sell strongly in the US, ran afoul of America’s rules for headlights and bumpers to such an extent that Citroen left the US market entirely in 1974. Citroen went bust for the second time in 40 years, was sold to Peugeot and never did anything as interesting again. We’d make some sort of allusion to Icarus but even we have limits.

After the Oil Crisis of 1973 tanked sales of... well, anything high-performance, the market for Boras dried up as quickly as the oil supply from OPEC. Combined with new taxes on large-capacity engines in its home country, the Bora’s prospects were limited, to put it mildly.

Maserati sold just 564 Boras from 1971 to 1978, which is disappointing enough in itself. Adding insult to that particular injury is the fact that Maserati prepared a pair of Boras for Group 4 racing for French importer Thepenier, which reportedly made more than 430bhp and looked promisingly competitive. But the homologation rules for Group 4, as any racing anorak will tell you, are 500 cars in the spec that you’re racing. When Maserati struggled to crest 500 cars altogether, it’s fairly obvious a Group 4 tilt isn’t on the cards.

Look, we know the Sixties and Seventies were a long time ago, but it’s pretty unforgivable that a top-tier company like Maserati would be selling cars with tech that didn’t befit Maserati’s reputation or its cars’ intended use. The Mistral and Ghibli had a live rear axle. The Quattroporte (after a dalliance with DeDion tubes) had leaf springs in the rear, as did the Maserati Mexico and the Sebring. The top-tier 5000 GT, sold to literal world leaders, had drum brakes in the rear. This is the kind of tech you’d expect from a mid-spec Ford, not a Maserati.

The Bora redressed the situation with fully independent suspension, disc brakes, air conditioning and enough power-adjustable gizmos to draw the correct amount of Jetsons allusions from contemporary pundits.

Being part of the Citroen family at what was arguably the best (or at least most optimistic) time in the French company’s history was a huge boon for the Bora. It meant proper money for development, of course, but it also meant that top-tier Citroen tech was on offer. And answering to a company that rewards outside-the-box thinking by bestowing an even bigger box with instructions to think outside that can only bring wonderful rewards.

But enough with grand ideas about having grand ideas and then actually getting to put them into practice; let’s back to brass tacks. Along with the brakes, hydraulics moved the pedal box back and forth, raised the seat height and actuated the retractable headlights. Citroen had spent more than enough time, effort and money on its hydraulic system and par Dieu, it was going to use it.

Just not that kind of Hemi. And Chrysler was not involved. Celebrate, gnash teeth or shrug nonchalantly as appropriate.

But Maserati, like Chrysler – and, admittedly, many, many others – recognised the potential of domed pistons and concave combustion chambers. Maserati’s race engine used two spark plugs per cylinder to properly exploit the setup, but the road-going, civilised version had a frankly pedestrian one plug per cylinder. Still, the Bora kept the race engine’s dual overhead cams per bank, four double-barrel carburetors and aluminium alloy construction. It made more than 300bhp, regardless of whether it was the 4.7 or 4.9 version, and would fire the slippery bodywork through the air at more than 165mph. Good thing Maserati finally came around on disc brakes, no?

Yes, the Bora was made to be something you could daily drive without first embracing masochism as a life goal. But that didn’t stop it employing magnesium alloy wheels, a fixed seat and movable pedal box, race-style tubular rear subframe and an engine that could trace its roots back to the 450S, which Maserati campaigned in the World Sportscar Championship. What was that you were saying about the Bora not being a proper supercar again?

A big boot up front, a smaller load space above the mid-mounted engine, a tilting and telescoping steering column, double glazing between the engine bay and the cabin, flex-mounted rear subframe, power windows, air conditioning... this was a properly practical car.

The BMW M1 gets a hell of a lot of praise for being the first properly practical supercar, but the Bora was there, seven years earlier. By now, some of you might be thinking that the Bora’s too fat and soft to be considered a proper supercar, handing the moral victory to M Division’s seminal mid-engined machine. But don’t be so sure...

Well, not quite – but it was designed specifically not to be aggressive. Maserati was building a mid-engined GT, after all, with all the comforts and conveniences needed to make that a reality. So if the outside wasn’t true to that ideal – or made promises the heavy, comfy tourer couldn’t match – then the bosses all the way up the food chain would be pretty damn unhappy.

And so the brief that went to Giorgetto Giugiaro’s team over at Italdesign “called for a car that was clearly a Maserati, modern but devoid of the exotic look that unnecessary decorations can create, strikingly sporty but not inordinately aggressive". Which is a wonderfully subtle way of slighting the opposition while getting the design you’re after at the same time.

And that’s not just our judgement; Giorgetto Giugiaro was voted the greatest car designer of the 20th Century by 132 automotive journalists from 33 countries, overseen by none other than Lord Montagu of Beaulieu and the Global Automotive Elections Foundation.

Just think about a few of the names that had to fall by the wayside for Giugiaro to win: Ercole Spada, Bruno Sacco, Robert Opron, Marcello Gandini, Tom Tjaarda, Malcolm Sayer, Harley Earl... Giorgetto was crowned the best of the 20th century above each and every one of them. And that’s the man who penned the Bora. Something to brag about down at the pub, then?

Consider it the proto-DeLorean. Giugiaro’s penchant for bare metal was already evident in the Bora. And, wonderfully, this idiosyncratic touch made its way to production – something that feels like it’d be weeded out by committee or accountants or executive decree these days. But that one feature encapsulates the Bora so perfectly, even at 50 years old – unique, forward-thinking and vanishingly rare to see.