BMW M3 CSL review

• What is it?
• What's the verdict?
• What is it like to drive?
• What is it like on the inside?
• What should I be paying?

Overview

What is it?

Coupe, sport, lightweight. Before the new M4 CSL, BMW only applied the CSL badge to two cars in its history: the 3.0 CSL, a homologation hero nicknamed The Batmobile, and this oh-so-delicately styled special edition of the E46 BMW M3, introduced in 2003. All credit to M Division, really – it’s surely kept the letters trademarked and could have slapped them on a number of its recent products, but it clearly knows that L at the end needs to be earned.

This M3 certainly did. It was 110kg lighter than the stock M3 of the time, which is considerable when there’s still two seats in the back. Its dieting was much more nuanced and considered than simply flinging superfluous bits in the skip (though BMW would let you lose the stereo and air con if you wanted to).

There’s its carbon fibre roof. Now a staple on even two-tonne M8 Gran Coupes, but the M3 CSL pioneered it. Other areas – the rear diffuser, front skirt and interior panels – used motorsport-derived composite materials while the bonnet was made of aluminium and the rear window from thinner glass than standard.

Think that’s nerdy? There’s also a carbon airbox hooked up to the engine, losing yet more grams while giving the 3.0-litre straight-six a newly nape-prickling intake noise. BMW also fiddled with the cams and valves to liberate another 17bhp, the CSL producing peaks of 355bhp and 273lb ft peaks.

Bundle that in with the 1,385kg kerb weight and 0-62mph took 0.3secs less, at 4.9s. The M3’s electronically limited 155mph top speed remained… unless you walked into the showroom clutching a racing licence, in which case they’d loosen it up to 174mph. And to think you now get a similar gain by lobbing another two grand at VW when you buy a Golf R.

But none of the above are the CSL’s biggest talking point. That’s nestled between the two bucket seats up front, the stubby little cylindrical lever that clicks between reverse, neutral, and first gear. M Division ditched the M3’s stock manual gearbox and replaced it with an automated single-clutch transmission that changed… gear… quite… slowly.

Like a blemish on a supermodel’s face, it diverted many people’s attention away from all the other wondrous stuff the CSL could do. The speed at which paddleshift gearboxes have developed since the early 2000s has only exacerbated how jerky and reluctant its shifts could be. But what happens when we revisit the M3 CSL – and that transmission – knocking on for two decades later?

The greatest ever M Car? It’s right up there, despite its infamous blemish. All the most iconic performance cars have a quirky backstory, or have a chink in their armour that makes owning, running and driving one that little bit more involving. The more effort you put in, the more satisfaction you get out…

Which is an ethos that fits the BMW M3 CSL perfectly. Keep the gearbox in auto, drive it like it’s a modern paddleshifted M4, and you’ll harrumph at its jerky changes. Put in a bit of work – like you would if you were driving a manual M3 quickly – and you’ll not only iron out some of the transmission’s flaws, you’ll ratchet up the size of your grin.

With a factory-fitted manual gearbox, it’s probable this car would score a perfect ten. Every other facet of its chassis and drivetrain is so, so scintillating. But there’s no doubt it’s a more interesting car for its oddball SMG transmission. And just look at where we are with such gearboxes now. Just like with its vast swathes of carbon trim, the M3 CSL was a pioneer in the performance car world, possessing these things before they were the norm.

It’s perfectly imperfect, and we love it. Blemishes an’ all.

Driving

What is it like to drive?

Well, it looks more breath-taking than ever. Its gorgeous alloys sit further apart than a regular M3’s (better for handling) with a touch more negative camber tucking them snugly into those exquisite arches. Then there’s the single porthole in the front bumper, allowing the engine to gulp in a bit more air, and its more curved spoiler at the back. It’s a stunner, and one BMW kept simple by only offering grey or black as options.

Given the CSL’s – well, it’s SMG transmission’s – reputation, you’re almost tempted to leave it at that. A gorgeous item you don’t want to tarnish by actually driving. Well, that would be a crying shame. Because even some slightly hesitant gearchanges can’t ruin what is one of the very greatest M cars.

Because with a well-timed adjustment of your right foot – a sympathetic little lift as you shift up a gear, or a blip of revs on the way down – it’s really not as jerky as doom-mongers would have you believe. The trick is to accept it ain’t going to be silky smooth and ramp things right up. See, as well as carbon roofs, the CSL also introduced customisation to the M driving experience. So as well as a Sport button to sharpen the throttle response, you could ratchet the gearbox response through five levels of increasing violence. Arguably a bit unnecessary, but you want it on at least ‘3’. Trust us.

This thing’s still flipping quick and you can’t extend too many of its six gears on road. Which given its final, frenzied leap towards 8,000rpm, is a shame. It was a sub-8 car around the Nordschleife before there was something called ‘YouTube’ to host an on-board video. We didn’t even have Bebo in 2003. Its 7m 50s lap time is quicker than the latest Mk8 VW Golf R, which has nearly as much power as the CSL and fancy 4WD and trick differentials to put it down with.

That’s because the M3 achieves its speed through an old-fashioned thing called ‘agility’. It’s light and deft in its feel and response, its thin, Alcantara-trimmed steering wheel a total delight to use with a silly stylised 12’o’clock marker (like you’ll find in an M2 CS) mercifully absent. Everything in here is function above form, however lovely that form may be.

You’ve total faith in everything this car does, though with massive 19in wheels, it doesn’t ride with shocking suppleness like some retro stuff does upon revisiting. The CSL is still a taut, focused thing, but all the more incisive – and addictive – for it. Don’t just ogle, get in and drive it. Because the more you put into it, the more you get out. True of the flawed SMG gearbox, and true of the wondrous car it sits in.

Interior

What is it like on the inside?

It really is function over form in here, which given how draped everything is in either velvety Alcantara or glossy carbon, might come as a shock. This was 2003 – these materials had barely made it to supercars, never mind the options list of front-wheel-drive hatchbacks.

There’s a real racecar vibe emitted by those trimless doors, and as you thunk them shut, you suddenly realise you’re sat in a relatively austere environment. There’s much grey, lifted only by some M tricolour stitching on the wheel and the illuminated upper quartile of the rev counter, which actively moves the redline around as the engine warms. Another feature adopted by dozens of cars following the CSL’s introduction.

While there’s a full complement of electric window switches – even for the rear glass, extremely rare in the coupe sector now – there’s a simplicity in here that feels so much more authentic than in CS versions of the M2 or M4, the latter essentially removing the arm rests and replacing the door pulls with canvas strips. BMW could probably have got away with giving it the CS badge, but drew the line. We like that.

For all their lack of colour, though, the bucket seats look fantastic, hug your love handles tightly, while they’re a right old pain in the bottom to move forward to let people in the back. The seat is one solid unit, you see – it doesn’t yield at the hip point – leaving little space for humans to slink through into the rear seats.

It’s as if the CSL is begrudging of any extra kilos on board, like it’s being manned by a bouncer who really doesn’t want to let your ice cream white trainers into their nightclub. Those who do get back there will find a car exactly as special and comfy as a regular 3 Series coupe, though perhaps one a little louder, given the glass behind their heads isn’t as thick as usual.

Buying

What should I be paying?

It’s going to be a bit more of a specialist owning proposition compared to a regular M3, as you might expect given both its pedigree and its pricing. It’s keeping an eye on the detail stuff like making sure the wheels are still at their correct camber, which can ramp up tyre wear. The CSL was sold on unique wheels wearing Michelin Cups, but cars may now be running different rubber – especially if their previous owners have craved a bit more grip in wetter or more wintry weather.

While all that carbon and lightweighting may scream ‘trackday special’, the CSL is from an era of M Division fitting brakes woefully equipped for such activities. So if you’re buying a car that’s been on track, check what condition its pads and discs are in, and if you wish to take yours on circuit, maybe look at going aftermarket for the brakes, while leaving everything else alone – please.

Unless, of course, you’re tempted by a manual conversion. Several have done it, and rave about the results. But remember the CSL is a limited-run special – just under 1,500 were made in total, with 422 coming to the UK – so a major mechanical makeover, such as swapping two pedals for three, may not be sympathetic to future values.

Which brings us neatly to prices. The CSL cost £58,455 new, a massive £17,000 jump on the regular M3. But a major gap then is a Grand Canyon-esque chasm now – where regular E46 M3s start at £10,000 and top out at £30,000 for basically concours-level cars, you’ll be lucky/arguably a tad foolish to pay anything below £60,000 for an M3 CSL now. You’ll more likely find a pesky POA on CSL classified ads than an actual price. Now more than ever, these really are a specialist item.

Keyword: BMW M3 CSL review