“My father worked as an engineer for General Motors for thirteen years, and he made me promise that I would never follow in his footsteps. ‘No, you’ll end up broke, don’t pursue that path.’ While that isn’t true—he simply detested his job.” This presented a minor dilemma for André Molina. Having grown up in Brazil before moving to the U.S. in 2005, André didn’t merely wish to drive a sports car—he aspired to design one.
Ultimately, a relatively obscure American mid-engine coupe from three decades ago would provide Molina with this chance and inspire him to motivate fellow enthusiasts to do the same.
“In the ’90s, Brazil had a vibrant indigenous sports car scene,” he shared with me over the phone. “There were individuals constructing vehicles from fiberglass and Beetle platforms, Golf platforms, anything really.
“As a kid, through middle school and high school, you naively believe that’s how companies operate; they’re cranking out cars from their garages. There’s no corporation, no design team, and it’s all a solo effort.”
Relocating to the U.S. “opened my eyes to a realm of cars” that simply weren’t available in Brazil, André mentioned, as the aftermarket scene was substantially more robust. “Cars are costly [in Brazil]. Labor is inexpensive, but cars are pricey.” Once he accessed various projects, he jumped right in. André claimed he “lacked the skills,” or “the tools,” or “the capability,” yet that evidently didn’t hinder him.
His journey began with a two-door Chrysler Sebring, followed by the quintessential Mazda Miata, “like everyone else has at some point.” Then he spent a decade working as a mechanic and crew chief for an SCCA racing team. Valuable as those experiences were, none quite quenched that persistent desire to build something from scratch until he pulled a 1986 Alfa Spider from a junkyard, coinciding with his dad, the former GM engineer, acquiring a new Giulia.
“I went all out on that car,” André told me. “I slapped on big slicks, lowered it, applied everything I learned from my SCCA days in the process. The suspension was upgraded. The engine had large carbs—fell head over heels for the Alfa Romeo engine.” André turned that little Spider into an absolute beast for autocross, even crafting an aerodynamic solution for the trunk with assistance from ex-Mercedes F1 aerodynamics expert JKF Consulting.
By this time, André’s dad had recognized that there was no saving his son from the depths of car building and guided him toward a slightly different avenue. At the time, it didn’t seem particularly helpful, but it turned out to be prophetic.
“I recall him saying, ‘Listen, if you insist on transforming that car into something it isn’t, you’ll ruin it, and you won’t be able to sell it. If you plan to destroy it, sell it and acquire something else. Build a kit car. Craft something new. You will ruin what you have.’”
The Beginning
André’s father passed away the following year, in 2020. The Spider gradually became more formidable, he noted, as his dad wasn’t around to temper his impulses. Then, about two years later, he encountered the Facebook Marketplace listing. He still has a screenshot of it and recited it to me:
“Never-constructed Consulier GTP rolling chassis, later model with the Gen 2 dashboard. Yes, I can see that it’s missing several body panels, and it has a few modifications. So, let me outline what it does possess: Front and rear steel suspension subframes; suspension spindles; original wheels and tires; rolls and steers; both doors with latches,” André shared, before making a note about the last point. “It was fortunate they mentioned that, because the doors were not attached—they were tossed inside the car.”
The steering column was there, but no windows, front hood, or engine bay cover—much less an engine. “This has never been a completed vehicle, so many of the body openings remain uncut,” the advertisement stated. The asking price was $7,500; the seller eventually allowed André to take it for $3,000 on the condition that he collected it that weekend, which he did.
The seller informed André that he acquired the monocoque from a former Mosler employee, and it was likely one of the last models the Florida-based company ever manufactured, probably from the mid-’90s. It was sold by its original owner with a twin-turbo Nissan VQ engine; the man who sold it to André had removed that engine, intending to replace it with an Audi V6, but never progressed on that, leaving the shell exposed to the elements for six years.
“It was rough,” André recounted. “It required a lot of work. It was in raw primer. The doors were unattached and inside the vehicle. It could roll, but lacked a powertrain. It needed repairs everywhere. I could tell that the exterior was far too gone to restore to perfection from the cracked finish. And understanding that it’s a composite car, it’s not like metal where you can sand down to the metal and ensure it will be relatively flat.”
However, don’t let those warning signs mislead you about André’s reaction upon seeing it in person for the first time.
“I drove to the seller’s farm, and the car was sitting there in the field,” he said. “I thought, ‘Oh my god, this is so cool.’ Yes, there’s much to do, but the potential is immense. This is the blank canvas I need to create something genuinely close to crafting something new.”
The Construction
André dedicated the initial weeks to sanding down the entire body. He reached out to Johnny Spiva, owner of the famed “Barbie Car,” a specific Consulier GTP with a colorful history. “As a Consulier monocoque owner, you gain entry into the exclusive WhatsApp group with other known Consulier owners,” André chuckled.
The members of that group are doing their utmost to preserve and, in many ways, uncover the unclear history of this Chrysler K-powered lightweight sports car. Wikipedia might state that it’s estimated that Consulier Industries—later Mosler—built between 60 and 100 GTPs, which is quite a broad spectrum. However, André and his close-knit owner community believe that accounting for the probability of multiple VINs assigned to single vehicles, the true number is likely closer to 30.
Unfortunately, the community was of little assistance in sourcing rare parts, so André had to think outside the box. He designed new custom hatches for the front and rear, including a roof scoop in the engine cover. And now we arrive at why André reached out to me, of all people, to share his story.
“That was when I began drawing inspiration from Ridge Racer—specifically Ridge Racer 2 on the PSP,” he stated. The car was based on the Crinale, or “Devil Car,” from Namco’s arcade racing franchise. Initially, the Crinale bore a resemblance to a Group C prototype, like a short-tail Porsche 962. It evolved throughout the series, but the Consulier serves as a reasonable real-world streetable equivalent, even if the game version’s quad-turbo six-liter V12 would be arduous to replicate. Even if not, it would surely tear apart the car’s fiberglass-and-foam body.
“Initially, it featured an enclosed decklid with a Lexan window, similar to a Ferrari F40, allowing visibility of the engine,” André explained. “However, I encountered issues with that creating a greenhouse effect, causing the heat to melt the polyester resin.” All the composite work he had performed on his old, modified Spider was coming back into play here—along with one of its engines, which he had previously relegated to being a coffee table display. It was completely rebuilt for use in the Consulier and paired with a five-speed manual from an Alfa 164.
“The engine was oriented differently,” André clarified. “It’s similar to any other front-to-rear engine swap if you’re utilizing a transversal engine, right? Thus, I needed to invert the shifter mechanism. I then ran a 164 reaction rod into the interior and attached it to the U-joint. This made the shifting mechanism quite sloppy, and to regain some feel in the shifter, I had to incorporate shift gates.”
The inner driveshaft also came from a 164, while the outer one was sourced from a Chrysler Daytona. The radiator is a CSF component intended for drag-racing Civics, as the size was “just right.” The wheels are a center-lock set from a company that no longer exists, which André discovered in South Africa, sold with an ambiguous bolt pattern. The paint, which appears black in photos but is actually dark green, is designed for marine use, since automotive paint and wraps refused to adhere to the body. It’s logical—boats are constructed from fiberglass and foam as well.
This Consulier—no, Crinale—truly is a splendid jumble of a vehicle. Each component has a story behind it. Everything’s been reappropriated from various sources, yet it all fits together perfectly to craft a genuinely unique sports car optimized for lightness, which was the builder’s childhood aspiration.
The GTP was undeniably light, but André’s version tips the scales at 1,699 pounds—around 500 pounds less than the figure Mosler quoted back in the day. His conservative estimate suggests that the Alfa engine is generating somewhere between 170 and 180 horsepower at the crank, which, coincidentally, is about what actual Consuliers produced from their turbocharged Chrysler 2.2-liter four-cylinders, albeit this one is naturally aspirated.
The Community
It’s not merely the custom work that’s striking; it’s also the rapidity with which it was executed. André informed me he had this thing on the road by October 2023, less than a year after acquiring it as little more than a shell. Once he demonstrated to himself what he could achieve, he wished to share that joy and satisfaction. Thus, he established a club in the West Suburbs of Illinois that not only meets monthly but also hosts workshops and gathers to assist each other with any challenges hindering their projects.
“We had a member who needed assistance refreshing the suspension,” André told me. “So we organized a large barbecue, inviting everyone to come and lend a hand. The amount of work he accomplished in one day would have ordinarily taken a full week. Everyone enjoyed themselves; we stayed there all day. I also had door prizes and drawings and all kinds of fun.”
The club, named Automotive Hobbyists of Illinois, is small but expanding. André and his friend founded it in 2024; they held their first meeting the weekend immediately after conceptualizing the idea. The primary goal is inclusiveness, encouragement, and providing help when members require it, contrasting the cynical “let me Google that for you” attitude that permeates certain automotive circles.
As for the Crinale? It still necessitates some refinements here and there. André mentions that the fuel tank isn’t baffled, and the oiling system still requires attention. Yet, it embodies that romantic notion of a homemade, backyard sports car, realized with all its imperfections. It’s peculiar and uncommon, and in that uniqueness, it starts to reflect the legendary “boss car” narrative of its gaming inspiration.
“Ultimately, people might turn around and say, ‘Well, the car looks incomplete, the paint isn’t stellar,’ or whatever. However, the core message is, to me, it serves as a symbol of what can be achieved. Even if it’s not flawless, it’s incredibly enjoyable. I want people to recognize in these imperfections that it’s alright for it to not be flawless if you’ve accomplished your goal on your own.”
“It felt so satisfying to construct my dream car,” André summarized. “And I strive to share that experience with others. I want others to feel the same way.”
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