Molecular chemistry. Comparing Renault Megane, Mazda3 and Volkswagen Golf hatches

Even when all three cars find themselves in the same traffic flow, they, like colorful molecules from a school chemistry textbook, seem to dissolve into the urban bustle. No one turns to look at them, no one points phone cameras at them. And what, exactly, is there to see? No coupes, convertibles, or sports cars—just modest gasoline engines ranging from 105 to 122 horsepower and the now-familiar automatic transmissions. But if you look closely, it's precisely from such unremarkable "molecules" that the image of a modern metropolis is built. Volkswagen is the most inconspicuous of this trio. De Silva's signature style doesn't carry any radically new ideas. Das Auto. From the rear—almost a copy of the first Touareg, just scaled down. However, the design has become neater: somewhere they removed an extra chamfer, somewhere they sharpened a line, reduced gaps between panels, eliminating visual noise. As a result, the sixth Golf looks as if it were carved from a single piece of metal. Solid, harmonious, but still without much flair. A completely different story is the Mazda3. Even though it, like the Golf VI, is a product of deep modernization of its predecessor, the Japanese designers had completely different tools at their disposal. Brighter ones, and they worked more boldly and freely. The result is lively: the "three" literally smiles. It rejoices, flirts with passersby, showing off the sculpted forms of its emphatically sporty body to the light. How can one not smile back? We give in to this mood, but still notice that the monolithic quality of the Volkswagen kind is absent in the "Japanese." And where would it come from, when three Mazda design studios—in Japan, Europe, and America—worked on the project? Next to the Mazda, the Megane looks a bit downcast. It lacks the sharp "fangs" in the grille that the three-door version, which visited us recently, had. The five-door, despite the similar body color, evokes boredom. Imagination constantly suggests how to improve it: align the rear lights so you don't feel the urge to immediately overtake the Megane ahead, or replace the plastic plug on the pillar with a glass insert—it would be a bit Bavarian, but elegant. But as it is... Fortunately, inside, the five-door Megane almost completely replicates the Coupe. And we really liked that interior. The pleasant-to-the-touch dashboard, the noble matte plastic of the center console—such homey warmth as in the French interior is found neither in the Volkswagen nor, especially, in the Mazda. And the aroma! The Megane's smell is natural and pleasant. Special mention goes to the two-arm climate control keys: temperature can be not pressed but slid up and down—very convenient, especially with long manicured nails. However, some ergonomic flaws are familiar to us: the small buttons for auxiliary systems and the flat, not very comfortable front seats. Adding a couple of doors didn't make the Megane more hospitable for rear passengers, but visibility noticeably improved. The Volkswagen's interior at first glance seems frozen in development. Which Golf is this—the fifth or sixth? The easiest way to tell them apart is by the window lift buttons, which are now placed on convenient protrusions of the door handles. Our readers remember that the climate control unit is different here, and the reference instrument panel has acquired two "wells" in the style of the Golf I. The blue backlighting has given way to neutral white, though not everywhere—only the rectangular display of the multimedia system glows with cold neon light. And yet, this emotionally neutral interior is a model of convenience. A moderately firm seat, a comfortable steering wheel, perfectly readable numbers and pictograms at the bottom of the instrument wells... You immerse yourself in this microcosm instantly; the Golf requires no getting used to. Even the hefty ignition key fob has barely changed since 1996, when Passat buyers first saw it. Stagnation? Rather, tradition. The Mazda's interior is more emotional but also rougher. There's more hard plastic, less coziness, and it's only in the "three" that my right knee hurts from constant contact with the sharp edge of the descending center console. There's no familiar door lock button—the Japanese suggest pressing a stiff key near the door handle. And the headlights that don't turn off after the ignition is switched off will one day "delight" a forgetful owner with a dead battery. Such inattention to details (or misunderstanding of them) is a fly in the ointment. After all, overall ergonomics are almost at Volkswagen's level, the seat is better than in the Megane, and in terms of space, the Mazda3 surpasses everyone. You can also come to terms with the different-sized displays on the dashboard: readings are easy to grasp. But even after a complete rearrangement of this panel, the feeling of novelty quickly gives way to the realization that all this has long been familiar. Only the sporty attributes like the "Alfa-style" upside-down needles and the analog coolant temperature gauge have disappeared. It's unlikely all that would be appropriate in the new "three," because it now drives not as spiritedly as before. Behind the wheel of the Mazda, you no longer catch your breath from the precision of reactions, and the suspension now cares more about passenger comfort than driver enjoyment. But even with increased body roll and a less informative steering wheel, the Mazda3 is the most driver-oriented car in this test. That very chemistry arises between it and the driver. Here is the most responsive accelerator: the "three" lunges forward as if in attack even with the gentlest press on the pedal. The four-speed automatic, though lacking a sport mode, is tuned combatively. Gears shift quickly, allowing efficient use of the modest 105-horsepower engine's thrust.