Every Photo You Need to See of the Beautiful Renault Alpine A110

The all-aluminum turbocharged inline-four is closely related to the unit that powers the Renault Sport Mégane hatchback but is in a lower state of tune, making 249 horsepower and 236 lb-ft of torque, sent to the rear axle through a seven-speed dual-clutch automatic transmission. An impressively svelte curb weight, roughly 2450 pounds for the Première Edition model we drove, keeps things interesting.

Even though it is less powerful than the entry-level Porsche Cayman, the A110 boasts a slightly more favorable power-to-weight ratio.

The A110's roofline sits 1.3 inches closer to the ground than does the Cayman's—but the first thing we noticed on entering the cabin, beyond some neat tricolore details, was more headroom than we would have found in the Porsche.

The Alpine rides out bumps with no drama, yet it hangs on gamely in long sweeping curves.

The electrically assisted steering feels light—even turning the car to its punchiest Race setting doesn't liberate any increase in sensation—but it is quick and delivers highly accurate responses, allowing the car to be placed on the road with what feels like inch-perfect precision.

The engine does little to disguise its proletarian origins. It fizzes and zings once unleashed, pulling hard beyond a hint of low-down turbo lag and snorting its way happily toward the 6250-rpm rev limiter.

While it's no more than adequate at the everyday business of A-to-B driving, on twistier roads the A110 proves it is exceptionally good at being a sports car.

The cabin is noisy at cruising speeds, with road roar getting past the minimal soundproofing and the exhaust droning at constant revs.

Luxury is lacking. The Première Edition has leather bucket seats with quilted stitching and fixed backs. They look good and hold you in place during cornering, but the inability to recline means they start to bite hard after a couple of hours.

Ergonomics are good, with a thick-rimmed steering wheel and a row of nice-feeling metal switches below the touchscreen. That infotainment system comes straight from Renault's more basic hatchbacks, albeit here with a performance-logging system.

The virtual instrument cluster is configurable, engaging the transmission is managed by D, N, and R buttons on the center console, and shifting gears manually is done via paddles.

Weight-saving measures are evident. There are no audio-system controls beyond those attached to the steering column, and the mirrors in the sun visors do without covers.

We can't think of a car with similar power that feels faster, and the benefits of the low weight are clear in terms of the way the car accelerates. We expect Alpine's zero-to-62-mph claim of 4.5 seconds to be confirmed if we were ever to test an A110.

It's not a natural drifter—indeed, it takes deliberate action to get the car sliding—but on a twisting, narrow road it feels both hugely secure and involving, a measure rawer and more direct than a base 718 Cayman.

Ordinarily we end stories like this one with polite regret that the U.S. is denied such cars because of the vagaries of the international auto business. That's not enough here. Book a transatlantic flight and beg, borrow, or steal a turn in an A110. You won't regret it.