Given the iconic status of many classic Ferraris, like the 250 GT SWB, 275 GTB, and Daytona, many of Maranello’s other thoroughbreds must content themselves with lives in the shadows. This despite the fact that cars such as the 250 GT Lusso, 275 GTS, and 330 GTC all possess the same legendary V12 heart as their more storied siblings.
The issue is that the pecking order of the great Italian sports cars is primarily determined by racing history. The 330 GTC didn’t perform any great feats in that arena, but it is one of the best GTs of its era, delivering a compelling blend of speed, beauty, and practicality.
Ferrari first unveiled the 330 GTC to the world at the 1966 Geneva Motor Show. The new model must have been one of the event’s highlights, its stunning bodywork combining sportiness and elegance. It could almost be called a greatest hits medley of previous Ferraris; the front end reflects the iconic 500 Superfast, while the rear reminds one of the 275 GTS.
As usual, Pininfarina was responsible for the car’s design. Who specifically wielded the pencil was rarely, if ever, disclosed at the time, but we now know it was Aldo Brovarone—the man behind many other captivating Ferraris, including the 400 Superamerica Coupé Aerodinamico, the 500 Superfast, and the stunning prototype of the Dino 206 GT.
This particular Ferrari Classiche-certified 330 GTC (s/n 10023) was built in 1967 and delivered to Luigi Chinetti Motors in California that September. Originally painted Verde Scuro, it was repainted red at some point during its decades-long stay in the United States. In 2001, the Ferrari was shipped back to Europe, and its owner, who has had the GTC for 24 years, had it restored back to its original color.
It’s a beautiful car. The dark green suits it perfectly, and the current alloy wheels—a factory option at the time—suit it better than the wire wheels it was originally delivered with. The upholstery is beige with a hint of orange, enough for Ferrari to call it Pelle Orange.
The GTC’s bodywork is free of frivolous ornamentation, which this car absolutely doesn’t need; its understated simplicity gives it strength. Despite being nearly 15 feet long, the Ferrari conveys the image of a sleek and, above all, athletic sports car.
Beneath the beautiful skin lies a tubular steel chassis, which the GTC shares with the technically similar 275 GTB. The body is steel, while the doors, hood, and trunk lid were made from lightweight aluminum. To save even more weight, the car’s footwells, floor panels, and rear bulkhead are made of fiberglass.
The crowning glory, of course, is the engine. This V12 displaces four liters, and its two valves per cylinder are controlled by twin overhead camshafts driven by chains. The block and heads are aluminum, although the pistons move in steel sleeves, while the forged steel crankshaft rotates in seven bearings. It’s a formidable piece of engineering, originally designed by Gioacchino Colombo in 1947, and continuously developed for more than four decades. The ultimate version, which appeared in the 412 in 1988, displaced five liters, sported four valves per cylinder, and featured fuel injection. In 330 GTC guise, the evergreen V12 is crowned by three twin-throat Weber carburetors and delivers 300 hp.
ENTERING THIS FERRARI IS AS EASY as you would expect from a Gran Turismo. Directly ahead of the driver sit two large Veglia gauges: the speedometer and the tachometer, the latter with a redline at 7,000 rpm. Between them reside smaller gauges for oil pressure and water and oil temperature. A fuel gauge, a clock, and an ammeter can be found in the center of the dashboard.
The 330 GTC’s cockpit is reminiscent of Alfa Romeo’s small coupe, the Bertone. Its interior is barely larger than the Alfa’s, while the windshield and other glass have more or less the same shapes, and the rear seats appear identical. Even the driving position behind the Nardi steering wheel is almost the same; I have to sit with slightly outstretched arms and knees slightly further apart than usual.
But I’m immediately reminded that I’m actually inside a Ferrari when I turn the ignition key. The V12 bursts into life, filling the cockpit with its voice: warm in tone and slightly menacing, as if it wants to let me know right away what it’s capable of. The sound is primarily a mechanical concert of rapidly moving parts, as the intake and exhaust notes barely reach my eardrums.
The open shift gate, a standard of the Cavallino Rampante for decades, is another clear cue of the car’s identity. The five-speed dog-leg gearbox sits in the rear, attached to a ZF self-locking differential and connected to the front-mounted V12 via a torque tube. The GTC’s clutch requires firm pressure, and it takes a moment before I get the hang of achieving a jerk-free “kiss” with the flywheel.
Initially, the shifting is a bit stiff—because the gearbox isn’t bolted directly to the hot engine, it takes longer for its oil to warm up—and I have to treat it with respect. Once it’s up to temperature, the gears are easier to engage, so long as I maintain the shift speed accepted by the synchromesh. The higher the gear, the easier it is to select.
My first impression of Colombo’s masterpiece is one of pleasant smoothness, the 12 pistons and their connecting rods working together seamlessly. At low revs, the engine responds effortlessly to the throttle, propelling the Ferrari to a higher tempo without complaint. This Italian V12 isn’t as hard and immediate as a large-displacement American V8—it is, after all, a sports car engine—and it doesn’t begin to flex its muscles until the revs crest 3,000 rpm.
The engine’s song remains primarily mechanical until it climbs to the peak of its torque curve, at 5,000 rpm, when I can start to hear the exhaust note. And when I rev it further, to the maximum 7,000 rpm, I’m serenaded with that glorious Ferrari wail. It’s truly astonishing how tight and clean the V12 sounds high in the rev range, which is a big part of why I keep returning to it, the delightful, well-mannered, relaxed GT revealing the pure sports car hidden within.
Ferrari claimed the 330 GTC raced from rest to 62 mph in under seven seconds—the dog-leg shift from first to second certainly costs a few tenths—and, given the space, could reach at least 149 mph. However, the drivetrain is rubber-mounted for a touch more refinement. Tire and wind noise only penetrate the cabin to a limited extent.
The GTC’s weight distribution is roughly 50/50, especially when its 20-gallon fuel tank is full. The short 94.5-inch wheelbase positions me close to the rear axle, which reinforces the pleasant feeling of the car rotating around me in turns. Thanks to its well-proven suspension setup—double wishbones, Koni dampers, coil springs, and anti-roll bars front and rear—the car reacts quickly to steering inputs, turns obediently, and calmly accepts any corrections. Plus, thanks to the gentle way the V12 builds power, I don’t have to worry about losing grip at the rear; I can clearly feel what’s happening with the Michelin XWX tires.
It doesn’t take long to discover that this Ferrari offers beautifully neutral handling. And, to my surprise, the Gran Turismo is noticeably more agile than a 275 GTB or a Daytona. I quickly forget its value and drive it with a certain flair—not only because of its affable handling but also because of the powerful Girling disc brakes all around. The Bonaldi power brake booster delivers a fairly firm bite, one which instills confidence, and it takes only a few tries to figure out how to perfectly modulate the deceleration.
Getting to know the 330 GTC comes in two stages. First, its looks, a very successful combination of sportiness and elegance, and second, its driving characteristics. In the latter, this car is completely different from other Ferrari GTs like the 250 GT 2+2 and 400, because, while this 330 has the letters GT on its tail (plus a C for coupe), it’s blessed with a clearly felt athleticism those 2+2s lack. This is simply a very good-driving car, due to its inviting handling, fantastic engine, and accessible speed potential.
Around 600 GTCs were produced between 1966 and 1968, making it only slightly less rare than the 275 GTB and considerably rarer than the later Daytona. Yet deep-pocketed aficionados often completely overlook this model in favor of those two-seaters without a second thought. Perhaps they’re inspired by the racing history associated with the GTB and Daytona, or maybe they find them more exciting, but I think they might be missing a trick.
In the 1960s, a 330 GTC cost virtually the same as a 275 GTB. Today, however, the 275 can command up to five times the price. Having driven both, I don’t think the difference is justified, or at least there’s no rational basis for it. To me, the 275 GTB isn’t a better Ferrari, neither more beautiful nor better-driving. One thing is clear, however: The 330 GTC is a gem—and a bargain.
