The first time you see a Lancia Stratos Zero in person, your brain kinda glitches. It’s not just a car. It’s a 33-inch-tall silver sliver of "what if" that looks like it fell off the back of a spaceship. Honestly, walking through the Petersen Automotive Museum’s exhibit on wedge cars from the 60s and 70s feels less like a history lesson and more like a fever dream from a decade that refused to believe in wind resistance.
Most people think car design is a slow, evolutionary crawl. You know the drill: rounder here, a bit more aerodynamic there. But the "Wedge Era" was different. It was a violent, geometric middle finger to everything that came before it. Designers like Marcello Gandini and Giorgetto Giugiaro basically took a ruler to the curvy, voluptuous Ferraris of the 50s and said, "Nah, let's make it look like a doorstop."
And it worked.
The Petersen Automotive Museum and the Geometry of Speed
If you find yourself in Los Angeles, the Petersen is the only place that actually treats these things with the reverence they deserve. Their recent "Alternating Currents" and "The Roots of Monozukuri" exhibits have touched on design, but it’s their deep dive into the Italian wedge period that really sticks with you. You’ve got the 1970 Lancia Stratos HF Zero—which is basically the final boss of wedge design—sitting there looking like it’s doing 200 mph while standing perfectly still.
It’s low. Like, "have to climb in through the windshield" low.
That’s not a joke, by the way. Because the car was so flat, there weren’t traditional doors. You literally swung the glass nose up and stepped onto the seats. It’s impractical. It’s dangerous. It’s claustrophobic. And it is arguably the coolest thing humans have ever built with four wheels. The Petersen manages to curate these machines not just as transport, but as sculptures. They capture that brief window where the automotive industry stopped caring about "market segments" and started caring about looking like the cover of a sci-fi paperback.
Why the 1960s and 1970s Went Sharp
So, why then? Why did everything go from the Coke-bottle curves of the 1960s to the aggressive triangles of the 70s?
Part of it was technology. Mid-engine layouts were becoming the gold standard for performance. When you move the engine behind the driver, you don’t need a long, high hood to cover a massive V12. This gave designers the freedom to drop the nose until it was basically scraping the asphalt.
The 1968 Alfa Romeo Carabo was the spark.
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Designed by Gandini for Bertone, it was built on the chassis of an Alfa 33 Stradale. It was the first car to feature "scissor doors"—you know, the Lamborghini doors that every teenager in the 90s had a poster of. But back in '68, this was alien tech. The Carabo wasn't just a styling exercise; it was a response to the "lift" issues cars had at high speeds. By making the front end a literal blade, they hoped to cut through the air and keep the tires glued to the road.
The 70s took this concept and ran with it into the stratosphere.
You had the Lamborghini Countach, the Lotus Esprit, and the DeLorean DMC-12. These weren't just cars for the wealthy; they were cultural markers. They represented a future that felt clean, digital, and sharp. It’s the aesthetic of the original Star Wars and Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Everything was becoming "hard-edged." Even the music was shifting from the flowing psych-rock of the late 60s to the precise, synthesized beats of the late 70s.
The Wedge Cars 60s 70s Petersen Museum Connection: More Than Just Lamborghinis
While the Countach is the poster child, the Petersen’s collection often highlights the weird stuff. The cars that didn't quite make it to mass production but influenced everything anyway.
Take the 1970 Ferrari Modulo. Designed by Paolo Martin at Pininfarina, it’s less of a car and more of a rolling saucer. It’s so low that the wheels are partially covered by the bodywork. It looks like it should be hovering over a neon-lit highway in a 2026 cyberpunk Tokyo. Then there’s the Maserati Boomerang. It had a steering wheel where the entire dashboard—gauges, switches, everything—was located inside the center of the wheel.
Think about that for a second.
The steering column didn't just turn the wheels; it carried the entire instrument cluster. It was a logistical nightmare and a triumph of "why not?" thinking. These are the details the Petersen brings to light. They show you that the wedge era wasn't just about one specific look; it was a philosophy of total reinvention.
- The Lancia Stratos Zero: 33 inches tall.
- The Lamborghini Countach: The first "true" production wedge that stayed in production for 16 years.
- The Lotus Esprit: Made famous by Bond, proving that the British could do triangles just as well as the Italians.
- The Dome Zero: A Japanese take on the wedge that looked like it jumped straight out of an anime.
The Reality of Driving a Triangle
Here is the thing no one tells you about wedge cars: they are mostly terrible to actually drive.
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Visibility? Non-existent. You’re essentially looking out of a mail slot. Rearview mirrors are mostly there for decoration because all you can see behind you is a giant engine cover or a wing the size of a Cessna's. Ventilation was often an afterthought, meaning these glass-heavy cabins turned into greenhouses the moment the sun came out.
But does any of that matter when you're standing in front of a 1971 DeTomaso Pantera at the Petersen?
Not really.
The Pantera is a fascinating bridge. It’s an Italian body with a Ford V8 heart. It’s the "approachable" wedge. It sounds like an American muscle car but looks like it belongs in a Monte Carlo casino. It’s this weird, beautiful contradiction. People forget that the wedge era wasn't just about luxury; it was about trying to find a new visual language for speed.
The Legacy of the Blade
We’re seeing a massive resurgence in this aesthetic today. Look at the Tesla Cybertruck. Love it or hate it, its design is a direct descendant of the wedge cars of the 60s and 70s. It’s the same "brutalist" geometry that Gandini was playing with fifty years ago.
The difference is that back then, it was done with hand-beaten aluminum and sketchy electrical systems. Today, it’s stainless steel and software.
The Petersen Museum’s role in preserving these machines is vital because they represent a peak in human optimism. We really thought we’d be living in moon bases by 1995, and we wanted cars that looked the part. There’s a certain sadness to seeing them in a museum, honestly. They look like they should be out on a desolate desert highway, chasing the horizon at sunset, not sitting behind a velvet rope.
But sitting behind that rope is how they survive.
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If you want to understand why modern cars look the way they do—or why they often look so boring—you have to look at the wedges. They were the extreme. They pushed the boundaries so far that the industry had to spend the next four decades reeling it back in to make cars that were actually "safe" or "comfortable" or "visible to other drivers."
How to Experience the Wedge Era Yourself
You don't just "look" at a wedge car. You have to experience the scale. If you're planning a trip to see the wedge cars 60s 70s Petersen Museum collection, here’s how to do it right.
First, go to the Vault. The Petersen offers a "Vault Tour" that takes you into the basement where they keep the stuff that isn't on the main floor. That’s often where the real gems hide—the prototypes and one-offs that are too fragile or weird for the general public.
Second, pay attention to the height. Stand next to a modern SUV, then stand next to a Countach or a Stratos. The roof of the wedge car will likely hit you at the mid-thigh. It’s a jarring reminder of how much "bloat" modern cars have.
Third, look at the shut lines. These were often hand-built. You can see the imperfections, the slight gaps, the human touch. It makes them feel alive in a way a modern, robot-built Porsche just doesn't.
The wedge era was a fluke. A beautiful, sharp, dangerous fluke. It happened because a handful of Italian designers got obsessed with geometry and a handful of car companies were crazy enough to let them build their dreams. We’ll probably never see another era like it, mostly because modern safety regulations make it nearly impossible to build a car that can decapitate a pedestrian with its front bumper.
But for a few years in the 70s, the future was sharp. And thanks to places like the Petersen, it still is.
Next Steps for Enthusiasts:
- Visit the Petersen's Digital Archive: If you can't make it to Wilshire Blvd, their website has high-res galleries of the "Vault" cars that aren't always on display.
- Research the "Big Three" Design Houses: Look up the histories of Bertone, Pininfarina, and Italdesign. Understanding the rivalry between these firms explains why the designs got so radical so quickly.
- Check the Event Calendar: The Petersen often hosts "Cruise-Ins" specifically for Italian styling or 70s exotics. Seeing these cars pull into a parking lot under their own power is a completely different experience than seeing them static in a gallery.
- Explore the Documentary Scene: Seek out the film Lamborghini: The Man Behind the Legend (2022) for a dramatized look at the era, or better yet, archival footage of the 1970 Geneva Motor Show to see how the public reacted to these "spaceships" in real-time.
The wedge isn't dead; it's just waiting for the rest of the world to get as bold as it was in 1970.
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