They may be separated by 15 years, but these two hot hatches share the same magic under the bonnet
Some have called the new Audi RS3 Competition Limited a £100,000 hot hatch. That’s not quite fair: it’s only £93,000. Meanwhile, a leggy Mk1 RS3 can be scooped up from the classifieds for around £11,000 to £13,000.
But the fundamental point remains. There is an £80,000 gulf here, despite both cars offering essentially the same recipe: five-cylinder thrills stuffed into a posh German hatchback.
To see if that premium is actually worth it, Audi helpfully tossed me the keys to an immaculate 2011 Mk1 RS3 from its heritage fleet while on the launch for the new car.
Let’s start with the Competition Limited. It’s incredibly rare – limited to just 750 units globally, with a mere 11 making it to the UK. Audi justifies its staggering price tag (a solid £30,000 premium over a standard RS3) with some serious chassis upgrades.
Ingolstadt’s finest have bolted on manually adjustable coilovers, slapped ceramic brakes on the front and binned 4kg of sound deadening to help amplify that glorious, guttural wastegate flutter. Inside, bespoke gold seats finally inject some much-needed life into the cabin, even if having to manually adjust them at this price point feels like a bit of an insult.
On a back road, it is an all-time great. Turn-in is razor-sharp, body control is absolute and the seven-speed dual-clutch automatic gearbox is ruthless, even allowing you to dive into the limiter should you get greedy with your right foot. There’s a bit of low-speed hesitation, but there’s not getting round the fact that it is devastatingly quick and phenomenally planted.
I won’t sugarcoat it: the new car walks all over the old one in the corners.
Stepping into the Mk1, it immediately feels like hard work. Wrangling it around a hairpin requires more effort, the steering feedback is one-dimensional and rigid and by comparison the new car – with its torque splitter – feels positively rear-wheel-drive. And the ride… well, the Mk1 was the car that cemented Audi’s reputation for uncompromising, spine-shattering stiffness. The old gearbox, while sharp enough for its day, gets easily flustered if you demand a multi-cog downshift.
But when you pin it, there is something there. Because it’s not choked by modern emissions guff, the engine note in the Mk1 is pure old-school offbeat. And even though it’s giving away 80bhp to its younger sibling, it feels tremendously muscular.
The interior, too, is a delight. It’s brilliantly simple, entirely functional and the doors shut with a reassuring, bank-vault click-clock that I don’t think Audi could replicate any more.
Objectively, the new car is emphatically better. But driving the old one is deeply reassuring, because it reveals that the greatest aspect of both machines is the very thing they share. Everything magical about these cars radiates from that off-beat, Brunel-esque mechanical five-cylinder drum shoved under the bonnet.
