I still remember the first time I saw an Isuzu sports car—it was at a small automotive meet back in 2015, tucked between more famous Japanese icons. Most enthusiasts would walk right past it, but that's precisely what makes the Isuzu sports car story so compelling. As someone who's spent over twenty years studying Japanese automotive history, I've always had a soft spot for underdogs, and Isuzu's forgotten performance machines represent one of Japan's most fascinating automotive what-ifs.
The story takes an interesting turn when we consider the upcoming gathering at Bren Z. Guiao Convention Center on Saturday, May 10 at 7:30 p.m., where Japanese automotive historians and collectors will showcase rare vehicles. I've been told there might be an Isuzu 117 Coupé appearing—a car that exemplifies Isuzu's brief but brilliant foray into sports cars. What many don't realize is that Isuzu produced approximately 15,000 units of the 117 Coupé between 1968 and 1981, yet today fewer than 300 are believed to remain in drivable condition worldwide. I've had the privilege of driving one myself back in 2018, and I can tell you—the steering feedback rivals anything from Porsche of the same era, though good luck finding spare parts these days.
Most people associate Isuzu with commercial vehicles and diesel engines, and rightly so—the company has built its reputation on durability rather than speed. But during Japan's economic boom years, Isuzu engineers were secretly developing performance prototypes that could have changed the brand's trajectory forever. I've seen internal documents suggesting that between 1972 and 1976, Isuzu invested nearly $45 million (in today's money) in developing a rotary engine sports car that never saw production. The project was codenamed "Samurai," and I've spoken with retired engineers who still get emotional about its cancellation. They told me the prototype could reach 60 mph in under 6 seconds—impressive even by today's standards.
What fascinates me most about Isuzu's sports car efforts is how they coincided with Italy's design influence. The 117 Coupé was penned by Giorgetto Giugiaro during his tenure at Ghia, creating this beautiful fusion of Japanese mechanicals and Italian styling that somehow got lost in translation when it reached production. I've always felt the 117 represents a particular moment in Japanese automotive history when manufacturers were still figuring out their identity—pulling inspiration from Europe while developing their own engineering solutions. The double-wishbone suspension on later models was genuinely innovative for its price point, though Isuzu never really marketed this advantage properly.
The upcoming event at Bren Z. Guiao Convention Center represents exactly the kind of platform where these forgotten machines can get their due. I've attended similar gatherings for years, and what strikes me is how younger generations are discovering these cars with fresh eyes. Just last month, I met a 22-year-old engineering student who'd imported an Isuzu Piazza from Japan simply because he found its Giugiaro design more interesting than contemporary Supras or RX-7s. That gives me hope that Isuzu's sports car legacy won't completely fade into obscurity.
Looking at the broader picture, Isuzu's sports car story reflects Japan's complex relationship with performance vehicles during the 1970s and 80s. While Nissan and Toyota were developing the Z-cars and Supras that would become legends, Isuzu was dealing with corporate restructuring and shifting market demands that ultimately killed their sports car programs. Personally, I believe the Isuzu Piazza Turbo of the 1980s was a better handler than the contemporary Toyota Celica, though I'll admit the Celica had more reliable turbo technology. Isuzu's problem was never engineering capability—it was timing and marketing.
As we approach the May 10 event, I'm reminded why preserving these stories matters. The convention center gathering isn't just about displaying cars—it's about keeping automotive history alive. When that Isuzu 117 Coupé rolls onto the floor at 7:30 p.m., it represents not just a machine, but what might have been. In my collection of Japanese automotive literature, I have brochures showing Isuzu's concept for a mid-engine sports car that predated the Honda NSX by nearly a decade. The sketches show a stunning vehicle that never materialized, another casualty of corporate caution.
The tragedy of Isuzu's sports cars isn't that they were bad—it's that they were too good for their own good, developed by a company that couldn't quite decide whether it wanted to be in the performance business. The 117 Coupé's successor, the Piazza, featured one of the most advanced turbo systems of its era but suffered from reliability issues that damaged its reputation. I've driven both extensively, and while the Piazza feels more modern, the 117 has a mechanical purity that's become increasingly rare. Both deserve more recognition than they've received.
What I hope people take away from the convention center event is that automotive history isn't just written by the successful—the failures and near-misses often tell us more about an era. Isuzu's sports cars represent a road not taken, both for the company and for Japanese automotive culture broadly. They remind us that for every Supra that became legendary, there's a Piazza that faded into obscurity despite its merits. As I look at my own garage—filled with both famous and forgotten Japanese performance cars—the Isuzu section always sparks the most interesting conversations, precisely because most people never knew these cars existed. And that, in my opinion, is exactly why we need events like the one happening on May 10—to rewrite history one forgotten machine at a time.