Why the 1970s was the wildest decade for supercars

If you were tasked with designing a supercar today, you’d probably start with a meeting. Then another meeting. Then a feasibility study, a regulatory checklist, and at least one conversation about pedestrian safety.

In the 1970s, someone would hand you a pencil, mutter something about “making it dramatic”, and leave you to it.

The result was a decade that produced some of the most outrageous, uncompromising and faintly ridiculous supercars ever built. Not just fast cars, but cars that felt like they’d been dreamt up first and engineered later – if at all.

The odd thing is, this all happened during what should have been the worst possible time for it.

The oil crisis hit in 1973. Fuel prices climbed, governments started paying attention to emissions, and sensible people began talking about efficiency. Meanwhile, in Modena and Sant’Agata, designers were sketching cars that looked like they ran on pure theatre.

Take the Lamborghini Countach, which arrived in prototype form in 1971 and promptly made everything else look like it had been designed in a previous century. Marcello Gandini’s wedge shape wasn’t just new – it was confrontational. Flat planes, razor edges, and a stance so low and wide it looked as though it had been compressed slightly in transit.

But the real party piece was the doors. Scissor doors weren’t added because they were practical – quite the opposite if you’ve ever tried to exit one without losing your dignity. They were there because someone at Bertone thought, quite reasonably, that if you’re going to build something this outrageous, you might as well commit fully. Owners quickly discovered that reversing required sitting on the sill and hanging out of the door, which is less “cutting-edge supercar” and more “trying to park a wardrobe”.

And yet, it worked. The Countach didn’t just become a car, it became a poster. Bedroom walls across Britain were suddenly plastered with them, usually accompanied by a Testarossa and a vague sense of unattainable ambition.

A red Lamborghini Countach with the doors elevated

Ferrari, naturally, wasn’t going to sit quietly and let Lamborghini have all the fun. The 512 BB (Berlinetta Boxer) arrived as Maranello’s answer – lower, wider, and with its engine slung behind the driver in a way that suggested Ferrari was taking this mid-engined business rather seriously now.

It’s often described as Ferrari’s first mid-engined road car, which is technically true if you ignore the Dino and start a small argument in the pub. What’s more interesting is how restrained it looks compared to the Countach. Still dramatic, certainly, but in a slightly more tailored Italian suit sort of way.

That said, early owners discovered it certainly had its quirks. Cabin heat was one of them – the sort that builds gradually until you begin to suspect you’re part of the cooling system. It’s a small detail, but a very 1970s one. These cars weren’t polished. They were enthusiastic.

Then there’s the Maserati Bora, which tends to get slightly overshadowed despite being one of the more usable supercars of the era. Yes, usable. In a 1970s Italian supercar sense, which still involves a certain amount of patience and mechanical sympathy.

What makes the Bora interesting is that Maserati, under Citroën ownership at the time, decided to do things a bit differently. Hydraulic systems were used not just for braking but for adjusting the pedals and seats. The interior was trimmed properly, the ride was almost comfortable, and the whole thing felt like someone had at least considered the idea that you might want to drive it somewhere.

Of course, this being the 1970s, Citroën also managed to go bankrupt not long after, which didn’t exactly help matters. The Bora survives as a reminder of a brief moment when Italian supercars flirted with logic before thinking better of it.

Not everything came from Italy, though.

Across the Atlantic, the De Tomaso Pantera was busy proving that subtlety was entirely optional. Styled by Ghia and powered by a Ford V8, it was an Anglo-American-Italian mash-up that made a great deal of noise and very little attempt to hide it.

Elvis Presley famously owned one and, in a moment of mechanical frustration, reportedly shot it when it refused to start. Which tells you quite a lot about both the car and the era. Modern reliability standards were not yet a thing, and neither, it seems, was patience.

Back in Britain, things took on a slightly different tone, but no less eccentric. The Lotus Esprit, penned by Giugiaro, brought the wedge shape into something almost attainable. Almost.

It looked like a concept car that had somehow made it to production with minimal compromise. Sharp lines, flat surfaces, and a presence that suggested it should come with its own theme music. Which, in a way, it did – thanks to a certain appearance in The Spy Who Loved Me, where it briefly doubled as a submarine.

Not many cars can claim that particular party trick, although it does raise questions about long-term maintenance.

What ties all of these together isn’t just the styling, or even the performance. It’s the sense that nobody was entirely sure where the boundaries were, and so they kept pushing until something either broke or caught fire. Occasionally both.

Manufacturers were smaller, decisions were quicker, and the gap between a designer’s sketch and a finished car was, if not exactly short, then at least negotiable. There was less interference, fewer committees, and a general willingness to take risks that would make a modern compliance department have a meltdown.

Of course, it wasn’t all brilliance. Build quality could be questionable, ergonomics were often an afterthought, and reliability sometimes felt like a hopeful suggestion rather than a guarantee.

Now we think that’s all part of the charm. Because for all their flaws, these cars had personality. Real, slightly unhinged personality. They weren’t trying to be perfect. They were trying to be exciting.

And in that respect, the 1970s didn’t just produce some of the wildest supercars ever made – it produced some of the most memorable.