Ariel Atom 4R | PH Favourite Car of 2023

Lots of cars are the same nowadays. As in barely-indistinguishable-from-one-another the same. You know that as well as I do. Another hatchback, another SUV, another slightly larger SUV. Car people complain about it, journalists complain about it, everybody complains about it – it’s boring. The days of doing anything even slightly different, just because it’s possible, seem consigned to history. 

Cars being so similar makes a photographer’s job both harder and less interesting, too. There’s only so often you can be enthused about seeing the same layout again, or attempt to make the same silhouette look interesting. Particularly when you’re having to do it in the company of Nic or Matt. Or, on the really bad days, both of them. 

That the Atom 4R is so berserk, so wild to look at and so unmistakably unlike anything else, is just one of the reasons why I love it. It’s easy to think of any British track car as a Caterham rival, but even from a snapper’s perspective, this is a completely different prospect. A Seven is one of the most instantly recognisable sports cars around, after all. Once up close and personal with an Atom 4, it was clear how much had changed from the versions we’d shot previously; it’s the same again with this R. There’s so much to drink in and point the lens at that just isn’t on show elsewhere: that makes the 4R a joy to photograph, even when static. 

When you’re not behind a camera, it makes for an oversized presence. The wild new rear end is incredible; not so long ago that 47OM plate was on dainty, delicate little sports cars, and now it’s some kind of prototype race car. And when you pore over the details, all the care and attention that Ariel drip feeds into every build is brought into sharp focus. It’s an ode to simplicity, obviously, yet the engineering sophistication boggles the mind.

I could’ve spent the whole day shooting the carbon wheels and adjustable dampers and polished exhausts but, of course, the Atom is even more dramatic on the move. When so much of what’s usually in my viewfinder looks uneventful even up to crazy speeds, the 4R manages to look dramatic inching out of a gravel car park. It helps that you mount a camera just about anywhere you like, and there isn’t a boring angle in sight – but probably it’s being able to see right into the experience, as you would a motorbike, that separates the Atom from virtually anything else on four wheels. 

This is doubly good because more often than not the driver you can see is having his mind blown. I was. I’m used to being exposed to the elements, hanging out of a boot for tracking shots or camped out in a swampy field for a pan, but charging into the wind with 400hp as your back is genuinely astonishing. I love the noise of all that air being slurped up over your head, the way the sequential forces home every single gear, and how the brakes need a proper shove but also give you enormous confidence. Swapping my Passat for the 4R was like trading a cruise ship for a white water raft (complete with the drenching). Suffice it to say, that grin is not staged. 

Clearly, no Atom could be considered an everyday sports car, but with the gearbox and the mad power, a 4R is an even more extreme proposition. Anything that requires a helmet to go a meaningful distance (or the world’s largest ski glasses just to get down the road) isn’t going to be for everyone. The superbike-with-proper-seats vibe has always been core to the Atom’s appeal, and now that it’s as fast as one (there’s a drag race to organise, especially with launch control) it’s only become easier to love. As conventional cars – even the sportier ones – get stronger and safer and heavier, so the appeal of having the bejesus occasionally scared out of you skyrockets. 

Easy then to think of the Atom 4R, like the bike thing, as a four-wheeled extreme sport. It’s not probably an activity you’d want to partake in every single day (unless training for competition), although with the right clothing, a modest skillset and a suitable environment, there’s nothing more exhilarating to spend time doing. Some people might think you’re mad, but you’ll be having too much fun to care. Other people will say it’s an expensive hobby – but you’ll be having too much fun to care. Other people will say it’s dangerous, and… you get it. Behind the wheel of a 4R, nothing else is of any great concern because you’re using up a lot of concentration, yes, but also because life’s more prosaic concerns – the price of carpet, fixing a broken boiler, chasing invoices – seem so much less important than the enormous smile on your face. Just as it ought to be in a sports car. 

I know Matt is desperate to try the 4R in the dry and somewhere less restrictive than the seaside – and I know I can’t wait to join him. A few hours in drizzly December was more than enough to whet the appetite (no pun intended), and now I can well understand why Ariel’s waiting lists are so long. The Atom has always been an antidote to boring; now, with the rise of the identikit car well underway, its place in the world seems more important than ever. If the 4R is a sign of things still to come, perhaps we’ll be able to endure semi-autonomous EVs during the week, safe in the knowledge that Crewkerne has the weekends covered. Sounds alright to me. Especially if they still look this good on my Sony.       

Engine: 1,996cc, turbocharged four-cyl
Transmission: 6-speed manual, rear-wheel drive (sequential optional)
Power (hp): 406
Torque (lb ft): 369
0-62mph: 2.7sec
Top speed: 170mph
Weight: 595kg (standard car)
MPG: TBC
CO2: TBC
Price: £77,940 (price as tested £152,537.30)

I make no apologies for championing my own car again in the also-ran category. The Atom 4R rocked my world for a few hours; the Crappat kept that world spinning for an entire year. In that time it has covered an additional 16,000 miles. It has transported all the tricks of an equipment-heavy trade and been the vantage point for virtually every tracking shot you’ve seen on PH. More importantly, it has done all these things without driving me to distraction. I’ve never begrudged getting back in it, even with firsthand reminders that there are fancier, faster alternatives out there. Even when I had to smash the window to get back in it thanks to faulty central locking, I didn’t despair. Or when presented with another bill for its upkeep. Or with yet more evidence of a tin worm infestation. Our kinship is deeper than that. An (almost) clean bill of health at the last MOT and four new tyres are tokens of our mutual affection. The mighty Passat has stuck with me for this long. I’m sticking by her till the bitter end.