Modern Classic: Renault Clio Williams

It has just 108kW. Hardly the numbers of a giant-killing legend. The Renault Clio Williams is something that can’t really be defined in numbers. Yes, we could point to the fact that its power-to-weight ratio of 110kW per tonne was similar to that of a Golf VR6 but that would be an irrelevance. The thing to know about the Clio Williams was that this was the car that finally moved the hot hatch game on beyond the Peugeot 205 GTI.

The 205 was a car that started its development in 1977, with the GTI first appearing in 1983. It was entirely apposite that, when it signed off in 1992, it would hand its mantle to another hot hatch. That car was supposed to be the 206 GTI, but that arrived late and proved to be an utterly dreadful contrivance that squandered any and all of the residual goodwill that Peugeot had worked so assiduously to construct.

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So there was a moment, back in the early ’90s when an opportunity existed for a special vehicle to drive straight into. The Golf GTI couldn’t step up – remember, this was malaise-era Mk3 Golf – and Renault had established its bona fides with a long bloodline that stretched from the Renault 5 Gordini, through the ripsnorting 5 GT Turbo and on to the subtler but no less talented Mk1 Clio 16v (or 16S in mainland Europe). It appeared that the Clio was the heir apparent. It just needed something that would seal the deal.

The justification came via rallying. The Clio was the obvious platform with which to do so, but the Group A and Group N3 regulations (the dominant categories before the World Rally Car formula was established in 1997) stipulated a maximum engine size of 2000cc. What’s more, in 1993, the homologation requirement went down from 5000 identical models built in a 12-month period to a mere 2500. If Renault could bring a 2.0-litre Clio to market for 1993, it would only need to build a limited run of them, and could charge a premium price. See? The script almost writes itself.

Meeting of worlds

The result was the Renault Clio Williams, a car built as the bones of a rally car but which wore a name that was royalty in Formula One. It’s easy to forget quite what a nascent partnership that was at the time – Williams Racing signing with Renault for 1989, the same year that it brought on board a talented young designer called Adrian Newey to replace Frank Dernie.

The first two years – with the driver pairing of Riccardo Patrese and Thierry Boutsen – yielded a second and a fourth in the constructor’s championship, but the return of Nigel Mansell from Ferrari for the 1991 campaign gave the partnership the impetus it required. In 1992, Mansell claimed the driver’s world championship and the Renault-powered Williams was crowned Constructors Champion. Renault was canny enough to appreciate the equity in the partnership, and the Clio Williams badge was developed to cash in on that buzz.

In truth, Williams had nothing to do with the engineering of this car. It was entirely an in-house endeavour by Renaultsport. Badge aside, the only tenuous link with Formula One was the fact that the Clio Williams was the sport’s safety car for the 1996 season. That’s not to say that Renault were entirely cynical about the engineering behind this car. A lot was changed from the 1.8-litre Clio 16v that preceded it.

Take the engine. The easy way to meet the 2.0-litre capacity limit would have been a simple bore job on the existing F7P engine. But the Williams’ 2.0-litre F7R powerplant featured different valves, pistons, cams, a stronger crank (from the diesel Clio) and an uprated engine oil cooler. The exhaust breathed through an uprated four-to-one manifold, and power was deployed to the front treads via an uprated JC5 gearbox.

Naturally, the suspension also came in for some attention. Beefier wishbones that looked similar to those in the heavier Renault 19 16v were fitted, which widened the front track width by 34mm, helped by the car’s 12mm wider Speedline alloy wheels to give it a really planted, hunkered-down stance, with subtly bulging bodywork. A reinforced front subframe was purloined from the Clio Cup race car and the springs, dampers, torsion beam and rear anti-roll bar were uprated. Metallic Sports Blue (paint code 449) was your only option. Kerb weight? Just 981kg.

Renault fitted a numbered plaque to the dashboard of each car, giving the impression that this would be a very limited-run vehicle. A feeding frenzy ensued, helped by the fact that, in the UK, the price lifted from the Clio 16v’s £12,337 to £13,275 – a paltry 7.6 per cent impost for a car that was markedly more desirable.

Ah yes, the elephant in the room. The Clio Williams was never officially sold in Australia. No Clio Mk1s were. The car you see here is, however, for sale through Young Timers Garage in Melbourne and, given that this is one of the greatest hot hatches of all time and has never once been featured in the pages of this august publication, we thought it was well worth giving it its moment in the Aussie sun.

Down to detail

The car’s official launch was, aptly enough, in Corsica, on the same roads that Renault aimed to conquer with the competition version in the Tour de Corse tarmac rally. Initial press reports raved about the Williams’ poise, chuckability and added driveability brought about by a fatter and broader torque curve.

It’s exactly this torque that you notice when compared with its predecessor. With 175Nm on tap at 4500rpm, it has some guts, but 85 per cent of that figure arrives from just 2500rpm, giving it a feeling of real heft. It also defines the character of the Williams. Whereas many cars of its era were either turbocharged grunters or revvy screamers, the little Renault seems to combine the best of both worlds, with a deep well of low-down muscle and something to offer at the top end of the rev range.

It feels tiny inside. At just 3712mm long, it’s within 12cm of a modern Kia Picanto from stem to stern and isn’t anything like as well packaged, having to house an engine that’s twice the cubic capacity. The cabin was designed in the late 1980s and it’s characteristically of the era, with hard grey plastics throughout, offset with a splash of colour from the blue-themed Sagem clocks, seat belts, seat piping and gear knob.

The seats are like nothing on sale today. The French always liked a seat with a reassuring measure of squish, but the Clio Williams blends that with a deeply-winged, monogrammed bucket featuring an upholstery material that I don’t think I’ve seen the like of since. It feels like suede and is printed with a random black pattern that is, amazingly, still offered by French fabric specialists Tissens. Apparently you need a four-metre reel of it if you want to entirely re-upholster your seats and door cards.

Fire up the engine and it has that instant, slightly lumpy thrum of a normally-aspirated Renaultsport engine that tacitly suggests that you’re not operating it in its happy window and that you need to rectify that forthwith. Anyone who has driven a Clio 182 here in Australia would instantly recognise its timbre.

Indeed, it’s possible to trace a bloodline of Renault engines with identical 82.7mm by 93mm bore and strokes from this F7R unit, all the way through to the F4RT powerplant (no sniggering at the back) that was used in the last of the 2017 Renaultsport Megane IIs. After that, the Renaultsport Megane was fitted with a less characterful rebranded Nissan MR18DDT 1.8-litre lump.

On the road, the Clio Williams still feels entertainingly brisk. The sprint to 100km/h from rest comes and goes in 7.7 seconds, and the chassis integrity feels a whole generation on from a Peugeot 205 GTI. Likewise, the power-assisted steering is a boon, providing welcome relief during low-speed manoeuvres, but bleeding back to almost nothing when you get travelling.

It feels an unambiguously organic driving experience. There’s no traction control or stability control and no anti-lock braking. This guides your inputs somewhat, but it provides a reassuringly direct feedback loop between what you’re doing and how the car responds. The gear lever vibrates, as do a few of the dash plastics, and you’ll feel the thrum of the engine through the thin-rimmed steering wheel. It feels alive. A big engine in a small car is a formula that’s never really gone beyond its sell-by date, and the Clio Williams revels in this quality.

Even without the benefit of variable valve timing, which would come later in the 1999 Clio II, there’s a very modern driveability about this powerplant. The five-speed shift could perhaps be a little shorter in its travel, and there’s noticeable driveline shunt if you’re not progressive with the clutch in slow-moving traffic. Likewise the steering isn’t as quick as contemporary hot hatches, where we’ve become spoiled by what an electrically-assisted rack can do. Nevertheless, it’s full of feel, a little torque-steer if you’re overly keen and features what we’d think of as an unsporting degree of rake.

What’s most surprising is the plushness of the ride. Despite featuring stiffer springs and dampers when compared with the Clio 16v, the Williams is by no means harsh. In fact, the amount of body roll and pitch encourages you to measure your inputs to give the car a chance to take a set on its springs, whereupon it’ll grip fiercely, even though it’s usually the case that only 75 per cent of the tyres are doing any work. The car communicates clearly what’s happening at its contact patches and there’s none of the spooky lift-off characteristic of a 205 GTI.

It also works well on Australian roads, largely because it has the ability to soak up the surface changes, lumps and bumps that typically afflict our most challenging cross-country routes. Indeed, this is where the Clio Williams gives its best, working with you in a way that’s reminiscent of a current Mazda MX-5, the skilled driver using its subtle weight shifts to nudge and cajole it with delicacy. Is it still fun? You bet.

The supply side

But what of the controversy that stalked this car? In short, Renault realised that demand was wildly outstripping its initial projections for supply and got a little greedy. A best-case scenario of 3800 cars was initially envisaged, but such was the hype surrounding this hot ticket that the Flins plant eventually built 4500 examples of the Clio Williams. That would be a transgression in the eyes of most who signed up on the basis of some guarantee of exclusivity, and remember, Renault only needed to build 2500 to satisfy homologation requirements.

But worse was to come. After the initial 4500 cars found owners, Renault unveiled the Clio Williams 2 in 1994, with the intention to build another 2500 units. Featuring updates to grille, side lettering and tail lights, the Clio Williams 2 had existing Williams’ owners up in arms, feeling that their residual values had been damaged by this dilution of the Williams pool. In fact, Renault had no problem finding 7100 buyers for the Clio Williams 2, with 500 additional vehicles as an end-of-run ‘Swiss Champion’ edition in 1995.

Then, to add insult to injury, Renault launched the Clio Williams 3 in 1995. This was painted a slightly brighter shade of blue (432 Monaco Blue) and came fitted with a sunroof as standard and the security blanket of anti-lock brakes. In all, 12,100 Clio Williams models were built, almost four times the initial promise, and the original owners attempted to organise themselves to launch a class action against Renault, which eventually came to nought. It was all a bit of a sorry end for a car that ought to have been remembered as a triumph.

In recent years, demand has firmed as the memory of Renault’s chicanery has faded and the reality of what the Clio Williams represents has solidified. More than any other, it set the foundation for years of front-drive excellence from Renaultsport. The highest values will always be commanded by the low numbered plaques of the original Clio Williams, but the Williams 2, like the car you see here, and the later Williams 3 are still in strong demand and there’s now not a great deal of price variance across the three generations.

They merit a bit of preventative maintenance, with oil changes recommended every 10,000km. Check wheel bearings and look for cracked front springs and noisy power steering pumps. All of the right-hook examples you’ll find in Australia will have hailed from the UK, so check for rust, especially around the rear arches, door frames and footwells. Electrics can be occasionally recalcitrant and ensure that any stereo fitment on a Williams or Williams 2 is professionally installed, as the standard cars came with no in-car audio. Thanks to soaring valuations, these cars tend to be looked after.

The Clio Williams remains the alpha and omega of early 1990s hot hatches. It’s a bona fide modern classic and one of the most significant small cars of its era. While it sits at the top table of iconic hot hatches, Group A rallying outgrew lightweight front-wheel drive competitors, even on tarmac events.
That said, the Williams absolutely deserves its place among the finest front-drivers of all time. Back in 2006, evo magazine set out to discover the greatest front drivers of all- time and the Clio Williams ended up on the podium alongside the Honda Integra Type R and the Clio 182 Trophy. Lightweight, efficient and fun, perhaps we’re missing a bit of their DNA today. Yes, the game has moved on but for the better?

Rallying To The Cause

The Clio Williams was a popular tarmac rally platform, especially in France, with drivers such as Jean Ragnotti, Philippe Bugalski and Alain Oreille all campaigning it. The basic Group N model made 121kW and featured a less restrictive exhaust, firmer suspension, different engine maps and a roll cage supplied by Matter France, with Sabelt bucket seats. The Group A car made up to 162kW from its more aggressive engine tune and larger extractors. 16-inch Speedline alloys were fitted and the front brakes were uprated to 323mm discs with four-pot Alcon calipers.

Specs

This article originally appeared in the June 2025 issue of Wheels magazine. Subscribe here.