Imagine a car so rare, only three of its kind remain on the roads today. Meet the 1978 Chrysler Alpine S, a vehicle that once claimed the prestigious Car of the Year title in 1976, yet now lingers on the brink of obscurity. But here’s where it gets controversial: despite its accolades, this car’s legacy is marred by the turmoil of its American parent company and a takeover by the French. Was it a masterpiece overshadowed by corporate chaos, or a forgotten relic of its time? Let’s dive in.
Written by Andrew B. Roberts, a cinema and motoring historian with a lifelong passion for cars, this story reflects his unique perspective. Roberts, whose love for post-war crime films led him to own a 1960 police Wolseley complete with a working bell, brings a rich narrative to the Alpine’s tale. One of his career highlights? Experiencing Peter Sellers’ 1930 Austin ‘Heavy’ 12—a testament to his deep-rooted fascination with automotive history.
Jon Murden, the proud owner of this rare Chrysler Alpine S, holds a piece of automotive history that few can claim. And this is the part most people miss: despite winning the Car of the Year award, the Alpine was overshadowed by its corporate struggles and the rise of competitors like the BMW 3-Series E21 and Renault 30 TS. Today, only 10 Chrysler-badged models remain on the road, with just three being the S version.
Yet, the Alpine wasn’t without its admirers. Renowned motoring writer LJK Setright praised it as “a good machine” that restored Chrysler’s competitiveness in Europe’s ‘upper middle-class market.’ Thames Television’s Drive In called it “the best Chrysler product yet,” and Car magazine declared it “a fine car, no doubt about that.” So, why did it fade into obscurity?
Here’s the kicker: the Alpine’s launch coincided with Chrysler’s European operations teetering on the edge of collapse. In 1975, Chrysler’s chief, John Riccardo, publicly threatened to pull out of Britain. Meanwhile, the Alpine’s British debut was bolstered by a £162 million government aid package, yet it struggled to compete with the conventional rear-wheel-drive Ford Cortina Mk4, favored by fleet buyers. Chrysler even continued producing the outdated Hunter model until 1979 as a fallback.
The Alpine S, priced at £3,784 in 1978, boasted luxuries like ducted heating for rear passengers, a center armrest, and a lockable glovebox with its own light. Yet, it was only £35 more than the aging Austin Maxi 1750 HL and cheaper than the Cortina Mk4 1.6 GL. But here’s the controversial part: was the Alpine ahead of its time, or simply a victim of poor timing and corporate mismanagement?
In 1979, Peugeot replaced the Chrysler badge with the Talbot marque, and the Alpine’s production limped on until 1986, its Car of the Year glory long forgotten. Murden’s Alpine S, a 1978 model supplied new in 1980, is one of the last surviving Chrysler-badged S versions. He describes it as “quick enough, handling well, and very comfortable,” though the gear change could be smoother.
Here’s a thought-provoking question: Is the Alpine’s enduring appeal a testament to its design, or a reminder of the British motor industry’s missed opportunities in the 1970s? Its styling, by Roy Axe, has aged far better than contemporaries like the Ford Cortina Mk3, captivating young enthusiasts at car shows with its late-1970s executive charm.
While the Alpine struggled with reliability and corporate chaos, many argue it was a good car built by the wrong company—a fate all too common in Britain’s automotive history. Tracking its survival today is challenging, with pre-1974 records lost and model names often misnamed on registration documents. Yet, its story remains a fascinating glimpse into a bygone era.
So, what do you think? Was the Chrysler Alpine S a misunderstood gem, or a relic of its time? Let us know in the comments—we’d love to hear your take on this forgotten Car of the Year winner.
