Yeah, it’s another one of those “Of all the weird and unlikely vehicles that Tokyo had in store, I never thought…” moments. I believe I had seen a Renault 25 or two in this town before, and why the hell not – they built almost 800,000 between its launch in late 1983 and 1992, so a token few would certainly have migrated to these islands. But a Heuliez “Limousine”? Surely a bit of a stretch.
Truth be told, I don’t even think I’ve ever seen one in France. Well, on TV perhaps, back when this was the presidential Chariot of State. That was sort of its first mission, after all. Let’s start at the beginning, though.
Renault had to give up on prestige models after the Second World War, but always had an inkling to get back in the game. In the ‘60s, they assembled Ramblers under license to try and gain a foothold in that market, but this strategy led nowhere.
Renault gave up on the AMC (in Europe, at least) after 1967, having decided to team up with Peugeot to design a true home-grown executive car. Peugeot were in charge of the engine, a 3.5 litre V8 no less, and both firms were working on their own chassis and bodies. The project dithered until about 1969, then petered out. But then Volvo joined the team.
The Peugeot-Renault-Volvo trio refocused their efforts, this time on the engine side only. Both a V8 and a V6 were in development, but only the latter saw production – the famous PRV – premiered in 1974 on the Peugeot 504 Coupé. All three carmakers used it in various applications; Renault’s long-delayed return to the (semi-)luxury segment finally came in the spring of 1975 with the Renault 30.
It’s not easy to compete in this kind of segment when you’ve been out of it for so long, as both Renault and Peugeot found rather quickly. The R30 sold rather poorly for a number of reasons, including the problematic PRV, but also Renault’s lack of image in this segment, the car’s bland styling and iffy quality control. But the Régie had sunk a huge amount of time, money and hope in this endeavour, so a follow-up model was in the works by 1979. Veteran Renault designer Gaston Juchet worked on two variants of the new flagship (a notchback and a fastback saloon), while Marcello Gandini provided a competing proposal of his own (bottom pic).
A third team, consisting of Robert Opron (who had spearheaded the Citroën SM, GS and CX, among other things) and Jean-François Venet, provided yet another prototype, dubbed Rafale. That one bore some similarities with Juchet’s fastback, notably the hatch itself, but was particularly refined in terms of aerodynamics.
In the end, Juchet’s fastback design prevailed, though he did take some of the Rafale’s features into account in the final draft and pushed the aerodynamic aspect as much as possible. As a result, the Renault 25 claimed a Cd of 0.28, which was about as good as a car this size could get at the time.
The new big Renault was launched at the 1983 Paris Motor Show, but sales only really started in the spring of 1984. Unlike its predecessor, who had a lower-tiered twin called the Renault 20 featuring fewer frills and 4-cyl. engines, the R25 included both more basic 2-litre variants and Diesels alongside the V6-powered deluxe models – one major key to its success. Indeed, if we group the R20 and R30 together as a single model, their production numbers are almost identical to those of the R25.
In late 1983, even as the new big Renault was about to be unveiled, president Mitterrand visited the Heuliez factory in western France. The coachbuilder, who had become a pretty important player in the small run / niche market, was then finalizing a LWB version of the Renault 25. It seems Mitterrand, who was always ferried about in a Renault 30 at the time, liked what he saw, and Heuliez soon got an order for a bulletproof version to be delivered at the Elysée Palace.
This marked Renault’s triumphant return as the French head of state’s preferred carrier. It had taken quite a while and had been quite a precipitous fall from grace. Back in the prewar days, French presidents almost always rode in Renaults. It had started in 1920 with the gigantic 40CV (6-cyl., 9.1 litres, top left) and carried on through the next couple of decades with Reinastellas (8-cyl., 7.1 litres, top right and middle left) and a related 1936 Reinasport (middle right); a 1938 Nerva Grand Sport coupé de ville (8-cyl., 5.4 litres, bottom right) followed. The last presidential Renault was a Suprastella landaulet (bottom left), delivered in 1943 and used until 1950. But by then, big Renaults were a thing of the past, so the powers that be switched allegiance…
First came a Talbot-Lago Record (top left), followed in 1957 by a pair of special-bodied Citroën 15-Six H (top right). From then on, French presidents were associated with swanky Citroëns, such as the 1968 stretched DS 21 Chapron (middle right) and the famous SM convertibles (bottom right). With the sole exception of a Simca parade car (middle left) that served in the early ‘60s, all official corteges were hydropneumatically sprung. Renault did try to provide a special-bodied Rambler, but it was met with a resounding “Non!” In the late ‘70s, president Giscard d’Estaing started breaking this double-chevron monoculture by favouring the Peugeot 604, both a standard model and a slightly lengthened bulletproof saloon, already made by Heuliez. But more often than not, a CX Prestige (bottom left) was used.
But the real break with the past came with Mitterrand. Perhaps it had to do with his being the first socialist president, but the change in motorcade was noted and commented upon at the time. The Renault 25 only increased this trend, as it was far more modern than the CX or the 604, so it replaced them fairly quickly by the mid-‘80s. So much as that Socialist Party bigwigs and palace courtiers were collectively known in the press as “le gang des R25.”
Naturally, Renault could not know this in advance, but they certainly planned on going after the Citroën CX with all guns blazing. And because the CX included the super-deluxe LWB Prestige, which sold in decent enough numbers, Renault figured they needed to compete in that niche as well.
Asking Heuliez to manufacture these R25 Limousines made a lot of sense: by the ‘80s, they were the last coachbuilder still in business, now that Chapron (who had made the presidential SMs, for instance) was about to go under. Peugeot had selected Heuliez a few years prior for their stretched 604s, and although those had sold quite poorly, perhaps Renault would have better luck.
Unlike the Peugeot 604s, which were delivered to Heuliez fully assembled and thus had to be cut and stretched (hence the vinyl top), the R25 Limousine was put together by the coachbuilder from A to Z.
While not up to the level of old-school specialist artisans like Chapron or Mulliner-Park Ward, the good folks at Heuliez still knew how to wrap things up in leather (from buffalo skins, apparently) competently. I’m not sure how well that gels with Marcello Gandini’s extremely ‘80s-futuristic dash layout.
And yes, not only is this a Renault 25 Limousine, it’s the RHD version – we’re talking hen’s teeth-levels of rarity, here. According to the owner, this car was ordered new in Japan in this configuration – one of a literal handful that ever made it to these islands.
Of course, if you’re going to splurge on a LWB monster like this, might as well tick the box for the “Exécutive Pack” with power-operated reclining seats and an extra-large centre armrest. That way, you and your secret paramour can travel in perfect comfort, all leathered up. Just don’t be too tall.
I speak from personal experience: this car’s owner kindly let me sit in the back seat there, and although I had acres of legroom in front of me, my head was barely two inches below the roof. And I’m really not what you might call tall (173cm, or 5’8’’ in old money). Mitterrand was about my height, so he could fit in here as well, but at 189cm (6’3’’), his successor Jacques Chirac preferred his old CX Prestige for a reason…
The other issue with the R25 Limousine was that it was expensive for what it was. In Turbo V6 guise, it cost over four times the price of a base 2-litre R25, all for an extra 23cm of rear legroom and no headroom to speak of. Besides, the standard wheelbase Renault was already pretty spacious in the back. In the small world of long cars, a bit more exclusivity was expected for the expense.
The car would have come with the full complement of optional toys seen on any higher-spec R25, including ABS, A/C, power locks (including the hatch, as we can see above), and so on. Standard features included the French version of Bitchin’ Betty, i.e. a trouble-prone voice synthesizer telling you, while you were serenely cruising along at 150kph on your way to visit your château on the Côte d’Azur, to “Pull over immediately” because the brakes had failed, two tyres burst and the PRV was about to implode.
Unlike the automatic gearbox, which was apparently pretty fragile, the V6 was rarely a cause for genuine alarm. By this point, it had been in production for a decade and many of its most egregious kinks had been ironed (or rather alunimiumed) out. Our Limousine was equipped with the regular fuel-injected 2.7 litre variant, good for 144hp, but you could also get the 2.5 litre Turbo, which provided 182hp and pretty good acceleration, all things considered.
Renault also saw fit to include a turbo-Diesel option (2.1 litres, 85hp), which may sound ridiculous, but they were probably trying to match the CX model-for-model, and the folks at Citroën did have a cheaper stripped-down LWB Diesel model in their line-up. They call that one “Limousine” and the fully-optioned petrol-drinking one “Prestige.” Renault did not differentiate between their three models (V6 Injection, V6 Turbo and Diesel), but it’s safe to say that very few R25 limos were oil-burners.
Which brings us to the production numbers. Renault were expecting (a wee bit enthusiastically) that Heuliez could manufacture 10 of these per day, totalling over 2400 per annum. Again, they were looking at the Citroën CX Prestige as the yardstick. However, it was immediately apparent that the market was less than impressed by the R25 Limousine. With or without presidential patronage, this model was just not in demand and Renault pulled it from the lineup at the end of MY 1986, the last ones being sold in early 1987.
Many sources claim 832 cars were made, another one cites 806 units – a complete misfire, in either case. Pitiful compared to the CX Prestige’s near 22,700 tally (over 12 years, of course), but a bit better than the 1978-84 Peugeot 604 limo’s 124 units.
Too expensive, too low, too ambitious, the Renault 25 Limousine failed to recapture the spirit of the gigantic straight-8 models of the ‘30s. With its modest stretch, PRV power and plasticky dash, there was no way for the Renault to pass for a real plutocrat luxobrage like the real greats like the Fleetwood 75, Rolls Phantom or Mercedes 600. Not dictator chic. More of a case of presidential fiat?
Related posts:
CC Capsule: 1988 Renault 25 Turbo-D – A French Executive Comes to AMC, by Roger Carr
Curbside Classic: 1984 Citroën CX Prestige – Stealth Spaceship, by T87
Car Show Outtake: 1982 Peugeot 604 STI Automatique Limousine Heuliez – Voiture Extraordinaire, by Johannes Dutch
The stereotype is that ’70s and ’80’s French styling, was progressive. Yet I found myself fatigued, by the predictability of so many French cars from that era, featuring skirted rear wheel wells. Smaller in scale and shape, than corresponding front wheel arches. A popular French theme, for representing futuristic. I found it, an overexposed design element from Renault, and Citroën, during that era. Less so, Peugeot.
It’s called IDDS syndrome…
Excellent thesis. I’ll buy it. The regularity of the application of this design element, was a turnoff for me. Always knew, it was coming, with any new auto from these players. Like the sun rising in the east.
Ther early Renault are outstanding, PreWar models.
They ARE nice.
French cars in the Pacific area suffered sales due to French activity at Mururoa atoll during the 80s and a ship bombing in Auckland didnt help their cause either, side on that car resembles a Xantia without all the clever Citroens had.
Great points. I was in high school, and the Rainbow Warrior was a black eye globally for the French.
I remember it well – just as many regarded the sinking of the “Rainbow Warrior as a feather in the French cap.
First case of terror in New Zealand. Canadian media reported it as such.
Yeah that was a huge thing. Pretty much put French cars firmly off the radar for many – not that French cars were such great sellers here anyway by then. Most notably for CC it held up development of the Chrysler Centura (180 with a Hemi); story goes that parts from France were held up at the docks for months.
With all due respect to Renault, the Peugeots always seemed prettier and better finished to me.
I would take a 505, 604 or 605 over an R 25.
That Talbot Lago is certainly a record, for ungainliness. It looks appalling, like some overwrought cabinetry that fell out of Louis 16th’s boudoir and gained wheels.
Quite on the other scale, the Capron DS21 looks like a speedboat wearing a top hat, but is also somehow so outrageously modern sculptural that only a French Prez could get away with emerging from it looking untroubled.
I never know what to think about the 25. The shape and details are good enough that it hasn’t dated much, but on the other hand, it’s possibly boring. Except for that great dashboard. And that synth voice that spoke to you like John Wayne dying in a Western “The battery…is…going…fla…” (Btw, the only person I ever knew who had a 25 had the auto break at about 3 years in).
As for having even longer to think about the 25 as it passes, I’d like to have less. A longer lingering leaves a lumpen and lanky looks legacy. Incredible find, though. Perhaps French embassy? Who on earth else would even know of the thing in Japan then?
I had to look up the name of the stylist of the Fuego coupe (which I think is gorgeous) to see if it was another Gaston Juchet design, as I see a family resemblance between the featured car and the Fuego. Similar design language. Apparently, the Fuego was done by one Michel Jardin. I might have bet money that they were styled by the same person.
While I just cannot find love for the interior (or pretty much any “different for the sake of different” French interior) I love the exterior looks – but then I loved the SAAB 9000 and that recently departed 5-door Regal, seriously considered a 5-door 626, and still think “with THAT backlight angle the current Accord should’ve been a hatch.”