Resurrection is not an easy act, especially in the car world. Consider the VW Beetle: The original was a timeless classic, but the resuscitated versions (New Beetle One and New Beetle Two) will not be going down in the history books. And let's not even talk about the cataclysmic failure that was the Dodge Dart, Version Two.
But then we come to the Fiat 500 Abarth, which presents us with a special case – an old car made not just new, but better. This came as a pleasant surprise. When Fiat announced back in the mid-2000s that it was bringing back the 500, a beloved car best known as the Cinquecento, I felt nothing but dread. The original 500, which dates back to 1957, is an icon. Creating a new one offered countless aesthetic and engineering pitfalls. Would it be as bad as the New Beetle, a car I once described as the automotive equivalent of a Stepford Wife?
In photos: 116 years of Fiat cars
As with the Beetle, the new car could not be a replica of the old one. The original 500 was a tiny machine with zero crash protection and a 497 cc motor (smaller than most motorcycle engines of today). Its convenience features were limited to turn signals and windshield wipers.
In the modern world, government regulations stipulate airbags and crumple zones. Consumers expect enough power to pass a truck, plus air conditioning and concert-hall sound. The original Fiat 500 was only 2.97-metres long. Fitting today's equipment into the classic package would be like a sex act involving an elephant and a mouse.
When the revived 500 finally appeared in 2007, I was only slightly disappointed. Like the original, the new 500 had a chortling, jellybean charm. You could picture it rolling through the streets of Rome on a sunlit day with Audrey Hepburn at the wheel. But something was still missing.
Then came the Abarth version, with fat tires, more power and better suspension. I took one on a long test drive, and fell in love. Given my history, this wasn't surprising. My first car, purchased in the early 1970s, was a Fiat 600 (the 500's slightly larger brother). This was the machine that carried me through my high school years in Brussels, Belgium, a magical interlude of cobbled streets, ancient town squares and a tiny car pushed to its limits (which weren't very high, but seemed impressive at the time).
Like any self-respecting Fiat owner, I really wanted my car to be an Abarth. Founded in 1949, Abarth is what's known in the car business as a "tuning house," a company that tweaks production cars to make them look and perform better. In the 1970s, Abarth made hopped-up versions of the Fiat 500 and 600 that were instantly identifiable by their alloy wheels and engine lids that were propped open to clear high-performance Weber carburetors.
(I couldn't afford the wheels or the carburetor, but I did install an engine-lid prop to make my car look like an Abarth.)
And so the new Abarth 500 arrived in my driveway with the weight of historical expectation upon it. From the outset, it was a joyous ride. With far more power than a standard 500, and upgraded suspension, the Abarth bounded through traffic like a Jack Russell Terrier chasing a ball. The interior evoked the minimalist charm of the original 500 while squeezing in modern conveniences like a stereo system and air conditioning. Also like the original, the model I drove had an expansive, fabric sunroof that turned the car into an open-air cathedral.
My wife, who pays scant attention to the endless parade of test cars rolling through my life, was instantly drawn to the Abarth. "It's cute," she announced. Coming from her, this was high praise, considering that she had previously ignored everything from a Porsche 911s to a Rolls Royce Phantom.
Interestingly enough, my wife had never been drawn to the new Fiat 500 in its standard form. But the Abarth struck a note with her. It did with me, too. The fat tires and lowered suspension tell enthusiasts that this is a car to be reckoned with, yet its tiny size and toy-car styling make it inviting rather than intimidating.
On the automotive psycho-social scale, the Abarth falls somewhere between the VW New Beetle and the Corvette. It's quick and fun. And it doesn't call for a flower vase. Or a black leather jacket, either.