The 1987 Maserati Biturbo arrived as a paradox on wheels, promising Italian glamour at a price that suddenly put a trident badge within reach of middle‑class buyers. Instead of a distant dream like a Bora or Merak, it tried to be the car you might actually finance, park at the office, and drive every day. That ambition to democratize a storied marque is exactly what made the Biturbo so fascinating, and so fragile.
When I look back at that era, I see a company trying to reinvent itself by shrinking the gap between exotic fantasy and real‑world ownership. The Biturbo’s mission was not just to sell more cars, but to rewire what “Maserati” meant, and the 1987 models sit right at the heart of that experiment.
The De Tomaso gamble on affordability
The push toward accessibility started with The De Tomaso takeover, which shifted Maserati from low‑volume supercars to a broader, more commercial vision. Under that leadership, The Biturbo models that began appearing at the end of 1981 were conceived as compact, relatively attainable coupes that could carry the trident into suburban driveways rather than just onto racetracks and concours lawns. An Argentine businessman drove this strategy, using turbocharged V6 power and a smaller footprint to create a car that could be built in higher numbers and sold at prices closer to premium sedans than to hand‑built exotics, a move that reshaped the Maserati brand during this time and is detailed in period Biturbo history.
That strategy was not subtle. Eager to put his Alejandro de Tomaso stamp on the brand, the new boss backed a sports car that would offer the prestige of Maserati to a wider audience, explicitly trading some of the old‑world exclusivity for volume and visibility. The Biturbo sat at the center of that plan, a car meant to broaden Maserati’s appeal and, as one retrospective on the company’s centenary notes, bring the brand to a wider audience through this more accessible line of models, a shift captured in accounts of how Eager Alejandro de repositioned the marque.
Designing a “normal” Maserati
To make the Biturbo feel approachable, Maserati wrapped its twin‑turbo V6 in a shape that looked more like a tidy European sedan than an outrageous supercar. The chassis was typical of 1970s European cars and adequate for the Biturbo’s intended performance, with a conventional layout that would not intimidate buyers stepping up from a BMW or Alfa. That pragmatic engineering choice, described in detail in period Biturbo coverage, was part of the accessibility play: make the underpinnings familiar, then layer the Italian drama on top.
Styling followed the same logic. The Biturbo, Karif, Shamal, Ghibli and Racing variants shared a crisp, almost understated two‑door and four‑door silhouette that could pass for a well‑heeled commuter car until you noticed the trident on the grille. The Maserati Biturbo was described as a bold and groundbreaking car that aimed to bring accessible performance and luxury to a wider market, a flawed but fascinating machine that tried to blend everyday usability with turbocharged excitement, as chronicled in detailed Biturbo histories.
Luxury touches on a budget edge
Inside, the 1987 Maserati Biturbo tried to convince buyers they were getting a cut‑price slice of Modenese opulence. The cabin was packed with plush materials and a mysterious selection of equipment, including electric windows but only one electric lock, and electric backrest adjustment but not full electric seats, a mix that made the car feel both indulgent and oddly penny‑pinched. Contemporary road tests of the Biturbo Spyder in Sep 1987 noted these quirks, even down to the way the pedals were set for the average foot, capturing how the car mixed genuine comfort with slightly improvised ergonomics, as seen in period Spyder reviews.
The open‑top versions pushed that accessible luxury message even harder. In a world where Sep, the Macintosh and The Terminator were defining a new tech‑and‑cinema culture, Maserati launched the Burbo Spider as a glamorous but still relatively compact convertible that promised everyday usability with a whiff of Riviera. Period video reviews of the Burbo Spider frame it as part of that mid‑80s moment, when Maserati tried to surf the same aspirational wave as consumer electronics and blockbuster films, a context captured in enthusiast coverage of the Burbo Spider.
When accessibility turns into fragility
The same cost‑cutting that made the Biturbo attainable also undercut its reputation. The Biturbo was the product of a desperate, under‑funded company circling the drain of bankruptcy, and it shows, with Everything from the electrics to the interior trim criticized in period assessments that later landed the 1984 Maserati Biturbo on lists of the 50 worst cars of all time. Those harsh verdicts describe how the car’s complexity and fragile components could make a simple repair bill look like the Gutenberg Bible, a vivid phrase preserved in retrospective Biturbo critiques.
That fragility had real‑world consequences in key markets. They, like Alfa Romeo, were basically chased out of the US thanks to persistent rumors of suspect reliability as well as a less than favorable exchange rate that artificially inflated prices, turning what was meant to be an affordable Italian into a risky financial bet. Accounts of how Maserati and Alfa Romeo lost ground in America during this period underline how the Biturbo’s accessibility pitch collided with warranty claims and currency headwinds, a story laid out in detailed retrospectives.
The 425 and the dream of a Maserati family car
By 1987, the accessibility experiment had grown into a full family of cars, including the Maserati 425, a four‑door sedan that tried to turn the Biturbo formula into a quirky alternative to mainstream executive saloons. The Maserati 425 Production years 1983 to 1989, with a 2,491 cc engine rated at 198 hp and a Top speed of 215 km, showed how far the company was willing to go in chasing buyers who might otherwise have chosen a German sedan, a strategy that unfolded just two years after the Biturbo had been launched and is documented in period 425 data.
Design work for some Biturbo derivatives even reached beyond Modena. The design of this model was developed by the famous Milanese atelier Zagato, and the bodies were assembled in Turin, a supply chain that blended boutique Italian coachbuilding with a more industrial approach to volume. That mix of Milanese style and Turin assembly underlined the car’s dual identity as both a crafted object and a mass‑market product, a balance described in rankings of the best Biturbo variants.
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