Background
With only 531 ever made, and only around 150 in RHD guise, the Rolls Royce Camargue was from the outset a particularly rare car in an exceptionally rarefied market.
At its launch it was the world’s most expensive production car and, even by Rolls Royce standards, an asking price of over £400,000 in today’s money was too rich for all but the most ostentatiously over-stuffed of celebrity wallets.
So, it should come as no surprise to learn that Sammy Davis Jr. and Frank Sinatra bought each other a Camargue on their respective birthdays.
The Camargue is a two-door coupé, based on the Silver Shadow platform and running gear.
Some say it is a thing of beauty, an aesthetic icon redolent of a particularly weird 1970s design zeitgeist.
Some would have you believe that its split-level air con qualifies it as an innovative, ground-breaking car.
Others think it’s probably the love child of an Aston Martin Lagonda and Lady Penelope’s FAB 1.
A few are convinced that it’s actually a stretched Fiat 130 coupé welded to a Rolls Royce Parthenon-style grille (bizarrely angled forward by 7 degrees, à la FAB 1).
They may be the closest to the truth because both the Camargue and the Fiat 130 coupé were the work of Pininfarina designer, Paolo Martin.
Whatever your take on it, there’s a clue to the Camargue’s departure from the norm in its moniker.
Where Rolls Royce took the Côte d’Azur and Le Mans as inspiration for the Corniche and the Mulsanne respectively, for some reason they decided to name this one after a mosquito-infested swamp with a few wild horses splashing through it.
By most conventional metrics the Camargue is a bit bonkers. Each one took six months to build and was the price of about 3 perfectly acceptable houses in the Home Counties or 7 if you went shopping slightly north of Watford Gap.
It’s heavy and ridiculously long.
If you park it on the street the boot badge and the Spirit of Ecstasy will be in different post codes.
It has a great big 6.75 litre V8 block under the bonnet which, in turn, features swathes of sound deadening material that look like the work of some of Savile Row’s more esoteric tailors.
It may have only two doors, but each one of them is considerably bigger than anything you’d find on an Amish barn.
Although aimed at the owner-driver rather than the chauffeured fat cat, the Camargue clearly isn’t purpose-built for blasting over mountain passes, clipping apexes or faithfully following a racing line. Not unless you’ve got a strong stomach, at any rate.
No, the Camargue’s milieu is the wide tarmac ribbon of Sunset Boulevard or the Promenade des Anglais.
It’s an indulgence, an extravagance, an exorbitance, a profligacy.
It’s shamelessly over-the-top and offers no apologies for it whatsoever.
Which, we think, makes it a refreshingly honest automotive statement.







