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If you thought the 1960s were just a festival of flower power and Woodstock, think again. Because while the world was busy tuning into guitars and peace protests, Italian designer Marcello Gandini and the house of Bertone were busy throwing down a gauntlet to the future of supercars. And in 1968, that gauntlet came with four wheels, upward-opening doors, and a color that would make a beetle jealous. Enter the Alfa Romeo Carabo: the wedge-shaped, green-glowing fever dream that landed like an alien spaceship at the Paris Motor Show and left the automotive world absolutely gobsmacked.
A Rolling Design Statement
Bertone wasn’t just making a car; he was making a statement. You see, this wasn’t a vehicle designed for your Sunday drive to the golf course or for taking the kids to school (though, frankly, it would’ve done both in spectacular style). The Carabo was an audacious vision of tomorrow, crafted on the bones of Alfa’s 33 Stradale. And while the 33 Stradale itself is already the stuff of dreams, the Carabo took its 1995 cc mid-mounted V8 engine and propelled it—along with the very concept of car design—straight into the stratosphere.
Wedge of the Future
At first glance, the Carabo doesn’t even look like it should be road-legal. Measuring just 990 mm tall, you’d be forgiven for mistaking it for some sort of mechanical shark skimming the asphalt. With its impossibly low ground clearance (just 99 mm from the pavement), the Carabo redefined what it meant to be “sleek.” Imagine a fighter jet designed by sci-fi enthusiasts, and you’re getting close.
That jaw-dropping silhouette isn’t just for show, though. Gandini sculpted the Carabo’s body to slice through the air with the aerodynamic grace of a bullet. Every line of that dramatic wedge shape is there for a reason. The front tapers sharply, like a prow of a space-age warship, blending seamlessly into the windscreen. Then, as if Gandini knew subtlety wasn't enough, the rear explodes into a squared-off tail that screams power, visually backed by the knowledge that beneath all this visual theatre lies a 230 horsepower V8 snarling and ready to propel you into the horizon.
Innovation with Attitude
But where the Carabo truly set pulses racing was in its innovation. Back in 1968, the world had never seen anything quite like it. The concept of gullwing doors wasn’t new, but forward-hinged scissor doors that open upwards like the claws of an exotic insect? That was pure theatre, and Lamborghini would later borrow that very concept for the Countach. Every detail was designed to make you sit up, drop your jaw, and immediately reassess your idea of what a car could be.
Even the paint job had its own backstory. Bertone named the car “Carabo” after Carabidae, a family of iridescent beetles that flash green and gold under sunlight. The car’s metallic green color was more than just a visual gimmick; it was a declaration that this machine wasn’t just from the future—it was from a different planet entirely. You could spot the Carabo from miles away, gleaming like an emerald in the sun, demanding attention like nothing else on the road. Or the race track. Or the runway, for that matter. The Carabo was many things, but subtle was not one of them.
Power Under the Panels
And while the looks were enough to send your heart racing, it’s worth remembering that underneath all that flash, this thing was built on Alfa Romeo’s racing heritage. With a 2-liter V8 mounted in the middle, sending 230 horses galloping to the rear wheels, the Carabo was no poser. Weighing just 1000 kg, the power-to-weight ratio was exceptional, turning this futuristic piece of art into a proper driver’s car. Forget cruise control; this is the kind of car that demands full throttle and maximum commitment.
The Legacy of the Carabo
The influence of the Carabo didn’t end at Paris in ‘68, though. Its DNA can be seen in countless wedge-shaped supercars that followed, most notably in Gandini’s own Lancia Stratos Zero—a car that looked like it had escaped from Tron—but that’s a tale for another day.
In the end, the Alfa Romeo Carabo wasn’t just a design exercise. It was a fully realized vision of what a supercar could be if you threw out the rulebook and started fresh. Bertone took Alfa’s racing prowess and melded it with audacious, boundary-pushing creativity to deliver a car that wasn’t just ahead of its time; it was straight-up from the future.
So, if you ever find yourself wondering where the wedge-shaped supercars of the ‘70s and ‘80s got their wild looks and their madcap sense of style, just remember this: in 1968, an iridescent green wedge shaped the future—and the supercar world never looked the same again.
