The Audi RS3 is not like most other Audis. In a field dominated by prim Benz ostentation, extroverted BMW baroqueness and Tokyo Drift allusions from Infiniti and Lexus, Audis have been the subtle, refined option. The company’s recently updated A8 saw changes so evolutionary that they were hard to spot. 

Slathered in $600 worth of Python Yellow paint, its grille, badges, roof and 19-inch wheels blacked out as part of the $750 black optics package, the $65,440 (as tested) Audi RS3 undoes decades of four-ringed branding efforts at Q-car stealthiness. 

This car’s purposefully flared fenders, housing 265 section tires up front and 245s in back (yes, you read that atypical staggering correctly), and especially its raucous, $1,000 sport exhaust, broadcasting the lopey thrum of its 401 horsepower turbocharged 2.5-liter five-cylinder engine (yes, five) transcend any notion of understatement. This little serpent is here to render temptation.

After running Audi’s smallest RS—letters that signify the sportiest variant of any of its vehicles—through 600 miles of twisty mountain back roads, shorefront two-lanes, cobblestoned urban streets and sweeping northeastern highways, I can say with confidence that it succeeds. And if this requires exiting the alleged paradise of the Garden of Eden, I will gladly comply. 

I’ve now tested all variants of Audi’s compact sport sedan, the base A3 and the up-powered S3. 

As a middle child, I typically seek a Goldilocks-style compromise between regular and crazy pants, so I am surprised to report that I’m smitten with this top-tier iteration. In fact, I found its balanced combination of hardcore sportiness and German luxury to be so compelling that I could almost picture myself saving up to buy one. Of course, I’d need a raise, as the base car costs $60,000 (hint-hint, editor).

Having just spent some time in the Volkswagen Golf R, with which this Audi shares many of its all-wheel drive underpinnings—including a trick rear differential, which enhances handling and affords a “drift mode” for tire shredding hooligans—I didn’t enter the RS3 with high expectations. 

I didn’t love the R. It felt overstuffed, like too much car for the package, and I worried the RS3 would replicate this. 

Fortunately, the Audi absolutely lacked this sensation. Some credit goes to a more refined package, with significant adjustments to the suspension and structure, which allows the RS3 a far more variable ride in its various dynamic ride settings—Comfort is actually comfortable, even on the rubbled concrete archipelago that is I-95. 

But the real differentiator here is the aforementioned engine, a unique (in the American market) five-cylinder menace—half of the motor that powers the V-10 R8 and Lamborghini Huracán super-coupes—that gives the RS3 a personality not shared with any other VW Group product.

That personality is roisterous, in a delightful way. The engine makes power in a fun, linear way that rewards driver engagement. Leaving the transmission in Drive is best for long highway hauls, and standard distance cruise control is an asset here—though it hosts fewer features than systems in other competitors. For example, it can’t change lanes or pass cars on its own. 

But get into Sport, or better yet, Manual mode, when the roadways become more technical and challenging, and the engine’s lively character really emerges. This is especially true when running out each gear to redline. The motor has a momentary pause just off idle, but then the boost builds and comes on strong, and it thrives and sings in an off-kilter note—like a discordant soprano saxophone played by Roland Kirk. 

This carries on right up until the needle hits the red, and then it’s time to do it all over again. 

The RS3 is so willing, so playful and so committed to its task, it makes every on-ramp, stoplight, overtaking and even parking lot maneuver a gymkhana. But, unlike some other, harsher competitors—the Mercedes-AMG CLA45 comes to mind—it never feels like it’s going to shatter your coccyx. 

I drove it 400 miles on the highway, and 200 miles off, and the quilted bolstered standard seats were a delight and provided plenty of grip and support in the twisty bits as well.

My issues with the RS3 are minor. The light switch-like transmission control switch, shared with other VW, Porsche and Audi products, is easy to use but silly, proving that, in the current wheel-reinventing era, this is a category of interface we now have to contend with. 

The “piano black” plastic trim inside is shiny, cheap and overused, and makes everything it surrounds (and it surrounds pretty well everything) look like the switchgear on a cut-rate appliance from 1987. It’s a rare misstep in Audi’s generally flawless interior design. 

The new sporty layout of Audi’s transformative digital dash is also difficult to read: What happened to dials? Luckily, there’s an available head-up display—included, along with traffic sign recognition and an upgraded stereo, in the $2,750 Technology Package—which obviates the need for a dash in general, so I just didn’t look down there unless I had to. 

In other dash quibbles, why is the fuel gauge, something standard on every car nearly since the dawn of the automobile, buried in a sub-menu that must be scrolled into in order to access? This infuriates me in principle, and in practice. 

But these are quibbles. A car this committed to the enjoyment of spirited driving, while simultaneously flexible enough for daily driving use, must be celebrated. If an Audi can change its stripes (scales?) and molt into such a vivacious performance sedan, I suppose anything is possible.

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