The 1970s are back in fashion and those dramatic wedge supercar designs look as spaceship-like next to today's blancmange-mobiles as they did among boxy 1960s saloons. But now such street-shopping style doesn't command the same price as a terraced house in Tottenham. Three of our featured cars – the Lamborghini, De Tomaso and Ferrari – have been or currently for sale at £20-25,000, while the Lotus Esprits start at just a few thousand and even a decent Maserati Bora can be found for under £30,000.

These are what you might call 'junior' supercars: none of them has a V12 engine or the 70-grand-plus price tag that goes with, say, a Ferrari Daytona. But, even at this level, running an old supercar is an adventure that will inevitably bring pain as well as pleasure. Back in 1975, when testing the Urraco, Motor magazine wrote this wonderful critique of the supercar:

'So you envy the man who drvies a sports supercar? His must be a halcyon existence. The centre of attraction, master of the traffic light Grand Prix, indifferent to the mundane problems of the world... just the car for the open road and that secret, weekend assignation. Sadly, these symbols of success are not always what they seem. Next time you see one, while comfortably ensconced within your quiet, fresh-aired, mass-produced tin box, consider that the well-heeled gent who just flashed by is probably either freezing or frying, that his warmest welcome is at a filling station, that his buttocks are probably numb, his arms aching, his luggage in his pocket and his mind on the disquieting noise from an engine that nobody wants to know about this side of the concessionaires. With some notable exceptions, the more you pay, the poorer the value. Exciting, maybe, but in our experience the honeymoon doesn't last long. Our Lamborghini supercar? It broke.'

A couple of years earlier, US magazine Car and Driver was even more blunt about the Pantera: 'While all of its beholders were ardently wishing that they were in the driver's seat, the driver was usually wishing, with equal fervor, that he was not.'

Today the Pantera appeals for its bomb-proof US V8 engine with minimal servicing costs, while the Esprit's draw is just four cylinders to worry about and 25mpg fuel economy. Let's be realistic: none of these cars was really designed for everyday, every-situation motoring – the new supercar buyer invariably had a more sensible car as back-up – but some are far more pleasant to live with than others, for very different reasons. Let's take a closer look at what's on offer.

Colin Chapman thrust his road car range into the 1970s in dramatic style, with design by Giorgetto Giugiaro's Ital Design. The Lotus Esprit was first shown as early as 1972, but production didn't begin untili 1976. Even then, it had to be hastily redeveloped into the much better S2 for 1978.

Based on a steel backbone chassis with glassfibre bodywork, the Esprit used the Lotus-Vauxhall slant-four in 160bhp form, mounted in-line ahead of the rear axle and driving it through a Citroën SM five-speed gearbox. Light, lively and dramatically styled, the Esprit would be the mainstay of Lotus road car production for decades.

In this company, it's outclassed in engine spec and performance – but that misses the point. It boasts the most dramatic, flat-bonneted wedge shape of all and an interior equally rooted in the 1970s, with acres of 'marcasite' velour. It looks the lowest, but isn't – surprisingly, the Pantera is half an-inch lower.

Climb in (left leg first, bum on seat, right leg in) and the Esprit is comfortable for anyone up to average male height and build, but no bigger. Ahead is a space-age instrument binnacle that wraps around the back of the steering wheel and looks so wild that you hardly notice the mundane origins of the switchgear. A window behind you screens the engine and luggage compartment; rear visibility is not as bad as you might expect, though the big pillars leave blind spots. The pedals are offset to the left and close together – small feet are essential – while the handbrake is a stretch away at the front of the sill. At the bottom of the vast, flat-looking windscreen, you can see... nothing. Parking requires good judgement or raising the impressive bank of four headlights. Time to fire up.

A booming noise from behind – inderterminate, but quite impressive – confirms that the engine is running; how much louder is it going to get? Motor's road testers lambasted the S2 for excessive noise, sufficiently loud to be harmful at 70mph.

I have to start with reverse – a good test. Pull up the short, stubby gearknob, right and back; the clutch bites low and is quite sharp, but owner Peter Gentilli has advised me to use plenty of revs and we get out of the paddock without embarrassment. Out onto the track and it's immediately apparent that the car has a wide spread of gears, surprisingly high for an engine with little low-down power, which must mae traffic jams tiring. On open roads, however, it comes into its own, very driveable with good acceleration, really taking off over 5500rpm – and it's not excessively noisy. Peter did a good job when he rebuilt this car seven years ago onto a galvanised chassis.

The gearchange is satisfyingly precise and, from the first moment, gives no worries about hitting the wrong gear; the brakes are firm and effective. The Esprit corners very flat, inspiring confidence, though the ride is quite hard, and heavy self-centring on the steering soon has your arms aching. Push it to the limit and you can feel that the back end will go if you're silly in the wet, but the big tyres – 205/60 on 14x7in rims front , 205/70 on 14x7.5 rear – grip well. Testing the S2, Motor reported that it cornered better than a Dino, Merak or Pantera and 'it is possible to indulge in an extrovert tail-out driving style should you so wish, especially through roundabouts and when powering hard in a low gear on the turn.'

So, how does the Esprit rate for practicality? It scores highly for boot space (though luggage does get hot around the engine – not ideal for taking frozen peas home from the supermarket) and for low running costs; Peter has covered 45,000 miles in the last seven years. But does it stack up as a true supercar? The others are all V8s: let's see how they compare.

My next choice is the Urraco. I've always been a fan of Lamborghini's fabulously sophisticated yet tactable V12 so I can't wait to try its V8. Conceived at the end of the 1960s, with a V8 mounted Miura-style transversely behind the seats, the Urraco was launched in 1970 but crawled into production in 1972; the original 2.5-litre engine was replaced in the much-improved P300 with a 3.0-litre for 1975.

The immediate feeling after the dark Esprit interior is of light and air, with more window space and acres of lovely beige leather and carpet – It's altogether more sophisticated. The Lamborghini's USP is that it has two more seats than the others – but there's not room for anything other than legless children, or a small adult squashed sideways, so those extra seats end up serving as expensively trimmed shelves for luggage. Ironically for the car with most seats, the Urraco also seems to have the smallest doors and just getting in is uncomfortable: you can get your right leg in the sit down easily enough, but even for someone with average-length legs and small feet, pulling the left leg in is a struggle.

The only left-hand-drive car here (though right-hand-drive Urracos were made), the Urraco's pedals are offset dramatically to the right and the driving position is classic Italian ape, the deeply dished steering wheel at arms' length and the pedals too close. The dashboard, though attractively trimmed, has a most odd layout, with the rev counter way off to the left and the speedometer halfway across the car to the right, with a bank of six minor instruments and four warning lights inbetween. It appears to have been designed by stylists with little regard to what the driver needs. Thankfully, you can see at least part of the front of the car and the rear view is good despite the super-stylish slats.

The Urraco fires up instantly with a sophisticated, multi-cam, multi-cylinder thrum; it sounds expensive and well-heeled, ideally matching the look and feel of the car. So far, so good. Try to engage gear, however, and the car's limitations appear. Even for a five-foot-niner like me, the driving position is awkward, my left knee hitting the steering wheel when changing gear. The gearchange's large, chunky gate is too clumsy and the heavy spring-loading to the centre three-four plane is irritating.

It's not looking good for the Urraco, but drive off and its charm offensive starts. The clutch is easy and the factory-fitted Recaro seats are comfortable and hugging. The engine pulls strongly and sweetly right through the rev range, its note changing to a terrific bull-bellow when you floor it: even with a precautionary red line of 6,000rpm on this car, it flies. A bit noisy, yes, but such a great sound you want to hear it again and again – and if you do tire of it, drive more gently and the noise settles to a perfectly acceptable level.

The steering is nicely weighted and untiring to use, the ride is good and there's minimal roll on cornering. In the twisties, the Urraco feels very well balanced and it's already winning me over; it's just a shame that Bertone didn't make the Urraco a spacious two-seater rather than an uncomfortable 2 + 2.

Mark Borthwick did the right thing when he went looking for a Ferrari 308 – he looked at a selection and tried them before bowing to his gut feeling that the first car he'd seen was the best. He was right. Sold new in Hong Kong, the 1979 GTS had just two owners there, one of whom made quite a few performance modifications. When it then came to the UK, the meticulous previous owner painstakingly put it back to original, with the exception of the stiffer suspension and larger, wide alloys. A perfectionist, he wouldn't take Mark out for a test drive because it looked like rain.

Since then, Mark's driven 9000 miles in two years – getting his money's worth from an unexpectedly large bill when clutch replacement revealed bearing damage due to a previous mechanic's clumsiness: 'I'm glad I was sitting down when I got the bill,' reflects Mark.

The Pininfarina (by Lenoardo Fiorovanti) body is the youngest design here, annouced in hardtop GTB form in 1975 and targa-topped for 1978. Gone are the uncompromised flat surfaces of the earlier designs, gently and sensously rounded into a glorious shape that is somehow voluptuous while still unmistakably a 1970s wedge. It's a masterpiece. Appealing details even stretch to the neat door handles: barely visible levers outside, completely hidden under the armrests inside.

That Ferrari was proud of the achievement is evidenced by the plethora of prancing horses everywhere you look – on the centre console, the steering wheel, the dashboard, the instruments... Other lovely details inside include the swooping line from the rear bottom corner of the door, through the armrest, across the dash and down the other door; and the neat lockable door pockets.

Big doors make it easy to get into the 308 and the seats are superbly comfortable. Ahead is a sensible, large binnacle behind the steering wheel with all the vital instruments right where you want them, clear and easy to read. The pedals are offset left, though not excessively.

Fire up the there is an immediate roar from behind, the big Webers sucking enthusiastically. The carburettor GTS is for many the ultimate model; fuel injection squashed power in 1981, and while it was restored in 1982 with quattrovalvole (four valves per cylinder) it still had a rather sanitised feeling compared with the rorty carburettored original. Now, you can get a decent early GTB for £15,000 in the UK ($25,000 in the US) and even a lovely GTS like this can be had for under £25,000 ($30,000 Stateside). Tempting.

On the move, the Ferrari has a lovely gearchange with satisfyingly close chrome gate and easily managed clutch. The one control that jars is the steering wheel, angled so that the right side is further from your right shoulder than the left is from your left. With monster 215/45x17 tyres to steer (matched by 245/40x17 rears), it's quite heavy and shoulder ache is the penalty: it shouldn't be so noticeable on standard rubber.

Unsurpringly, the rid is hard and cornering pin-sharp – even standard 308s were criticised for a rough ride at low speeds, as well as for a huge turning circle.

Power is there through the range, building with revs, and the Ferrari makes a wonderful sound, accentuated with the roof off, the cars sucking and gobbling – but for the mechanically minded like me, the popping and farting that typifies a carburettor Ferrari on the overrun and when first floored is too much of a suggestion of wasted petrol and inefficiency.

If Lamborghini could make a performance four-cam V8 and V12 run as sweet as a sewing machine, so could Ferrari – it's all for show. If that appeals, you'll love the 308: in many ways it feels the most developed, integrated and sensible car here. A Ferrari sensible? That says a lot about the company it's in.

Remarkable value when new (only the Lotus was significantly cheaper, despite the Pantera being the fastest of all), the Pantera GTS is equally good value now – it's hard to believe that owner Keith Martin want to sell this ex-Motor Show 1977 GTS, the first RHD GTS, for just £20,000. Like the urraco, the Pantera was launched in 1970 and – remarkably, considering the moster V8 in the back – it's the lowest, sleekest car here. Though derived from a Giugiaro design, the Pantera was styled by Tom Tjaarda for Ghia, then controlled by Alejandro de Tomaso who had been commissioned by Ford to build a supercar around it's 5.8-litre cast-iron V8. Sadly, quality disasters led Ford to bail out in 1974, but de Tomaso kept production going and Pantera was soon a well-sorted machine.

Getting in is straightforward and the cockpit is urprisingly welcoming; I guess I expected something less coherent. In fact, partly thanks to the magnolia leather trim contrasting nicely with the black fabric dash, the Pantera wins the prize for clearest instrumentation here. Behind the wheel and just below the eyeline when driving are the all-important speedo and rev counter, minor instruments and other controls being relegated to a handy position on the centre console, ahead of the attractive chrome-gated gearchange.

I expected the Pantera to feel heavy and clunky but – apart from an over-stiff throttle spring that keith will replace – it's light and drivable, and the most like a go-kart of all the cars here. It makes a wonderful noise and the steering is precise, with great feel. The gearchange flows nicely, the engine punches you in the back from tickover up (the red line is at 5800 on an 8000rpm rev counter, but there's little to be gained by going over 4500) and the handling is stunning on 225/50x15 front tyres and stonking 295/50/15 rears.

Cornering limits are beyond anything I want to explore in Keith's pride and joy, but Motor in 1972 proclaimed it was possible to hand the tail out on slower corners and that the dry-road handling was so safe and balanced that the performance was more usable than in any of its rivals at the time. In contrast to my own impressions, they criticised the steering's lack of feel but praised the brakes, which I found quite scary on this example, with an unpredictable tendency to pull to either side. Even so, the Pantera was immense fun and only a disappointingly uncomfortable seat, forced into an overly upright and angled position by the engine bulging through the bulkhead, induced me to hand it back..

That just leaves the Bora, another Giugiaro/Ital Design production with an astonishing and successful mix of Maserati and Citroën technology. Most expensive be far when new, can if justify that price tag in use? Motor in 1973 said not. But just under 500 owners between 1971 and 1978 felt it could.

Peter Bateman has driven this Bora on (and to) all the major circuits in Europe – 'It loves Imola and can do 100mph through Eau Rougel' – and has no qualms about driving half the M25 at 5.30pm on a Friday, a convincing tribute to the Maserati's usability. In 12 years of ownership he's covered 35,000 miles and found that electrical problems are the only common failing.

Quality exudes everywhere, from the brushed stainless steel roof panel (decades before DeLorean) to the hydraulically adjustable pedals and seat height. No wonder this is the heaviest car here, despite its big four-cam V8 engine being all aluminium.

Wonderfully original waterfall-style seats are the Bora's other nod to styling excess; with big doors, access is easy and, once in, the driving position is comfortable and the dash, though somewhat cluttered, turns out to have all the vital dials where you want them and others close by – and as a bonus, the handbrake is conveniently positioned for feeling your passenger's thigh... The steering wheel position is quite high and the pedals are offset left, bgut so is the seat so it feels coherent in use and the pedals are well spaced.

 

Fire up and the big V8 burbles happily; as the revs rise, the soud becomes harder but it is never intrusive and, to be honest, sounds a little more mundane than expected. But power it has in plenty, a seamless thrust right through the rev range with such potency that it rarely feels extended; the red line on the 8000rpm rev counter is at 5500, but there's no more poke above 5000 than at 3000.

The steering is light at first, a little lacking in feel, seeming power-assisted though it isn't. When you first enter a corner, you can feel the weight of the engine behind, but the car balances itself and feels very stable, planting itself on the road; a glance at the speedo reveals I'm already taking corners 10mph faster than I was in the other cars. The only disappointment is the seats, in which I slide from side to side – they're built for portiler frames.

Hight geared and flexible, the Bora barely needs to go above third gear in normal driving – it's built to eat up the miles. Most impressive of all, though, is the controversial Citroën-derived braking. Sensitive and really inspiring confidence, the brakes haul this heavy car down from 100mph to 50mph for corner after corner with astonishing efficiency, aided by grooved TarOx aftermarket discs.

The Maserati's combination of supercar grunt, great handling, relaxed cruising, flexibility and fabulous brakes make it for me the pick of the bunch though all have their own strengths, the Lotus offering DIY practicality and running economy, the Lambo a fabulous engine and interior space, the Ferrari all-round sophistrication and the De Tomaso simplicity with sheer road-squashing grunt. The choice is yours.

Thanks to: Peter Gentilli for the Esprit, Jason Barker for the Urraco, Mark Borthwick for the 308GTS, Keith Martin for the Pantera and Peter Bateman for the Bora.