Škoda Type 720

Škoda Type 720
Škoda 720 OP-1
Type	Large Family/Compact Executive car (D-Segment)
Manifacturer	AZNP, BAZ
Production	1967 - 1972
Body material	Stalinium, Plastic
Body Style	4-door sedan 5-door fastback 5-door wagon 2-door coupé
Engine	1236 cc OHC I4 1498 cc OHC I4
Layout	Front-engine, rear-wheel drive
Mass	Up to 1200 kg
Predcessor	none
Successor	Škoda Type 760 Škoda Type 781 Škoda 105/120

The Škoda 720 was the pinnacle of Czechoslovak automotive ambition—a car so brimming with decadent capitalist features that it threatened to outshine anything on either side of the Iron Curtain. Designed in the late 1960s, this proto-luxury marvel boasted an unheard-of rear-wheel-drive layout, daringly modern European styling, and an array of engine options that would make even bourgeois carmakers blush. Truly, it was a vehicle destined to become the people's paradox: a communist car that dreamed of a capitalist highway.

But alas, as with all utopias, its time never came. The Škoda 720's promising future was cut short, not by lack of innovation or talent, but by the gentle crush of “fraternal liberation” in 1968. The Warsaw Pact tanks rolled in, and the dreams of a car that was just a little too Western rolled out. Today, the 720 stands as a curious relic of what happens when socialist pragmatism flirts with capitalist indulgence—and proves that sometimes, ambition is simply too stylish to survive.

Background

In the late 1960s, the winds of change whispered softly through Czechoslovakia—just enough for the scent of capitalism to seep into the air, though not enough to fully mask the aroma of stale, state-controlled industry. As the people tentatively embraced a glimmer of newfound hope, someone in Škoda must have thought, "If we're already making cars for the proletariat, why not create one that lets them dream of being bourgeois for a moment?"

Škoda had already built its reputation on vehicles like the 1000 and 1100 MB, solidly “people’s cars,” with their rear-mounted engines and pragmatic, functional design. But even these models harbored a hint of treachery to socialist ideals—they dared to feature aluminum engines, a material so exotic and unnecessary it practically oozed capitalist decadence. Still, they were practical enough to avoid suspicion and ensured Škoda held its status as one of the most advanced carmakers in Europe, rivaling even those imperialist automakers to the West.

But why stop there? In the brief window of cultural thawing, someone in the bowels of Škoda’s design department had the audacity to propose a mid-sized car—something bigger, something bolder, something that could dare to look a BMW 1502 in the eye. A car not just for shuttling around sacks of potatoes, but one you could pull up in and feel something. Imagine: a family sedan with space for a picnic basket and the glorious achievements of socialism, wrapped in styling that could make a West German factory worker weep with envy.

Of course, the 720 was never intended to be a car for the masses. No, this was a car for the elite masses—the comrades who’d risen just high enough in the Party ranks to enjoy the finer things but not so high as to get the special-import Volga or, if you were truly lucky, the ever-elusive Fiat 125. The idea was clear: if socialism couldn’t outproduce capitalism in sheer numbers, it could at least produce something that looked vaguely like a capitalist dream on four wheels.

But in true socialist fashion, the dream was doomed from the start. The designers, likely drunk on borrowed Western magazines and fantasies of autobahns, ignored the grim realities of production quotas, chronic material shortages, and a system that valued uniform mediocrity over innovation. And then came 1968. The tanks rolled in, the Prague Spring rolled out, and any flicker of capitalist flirtation was promptly crushed under the weight of fraternal liberation.

What survived of the Škoda 720 was nothing more than a few prototypes and a lingering sense of what could have been. It was the perfect metaphor for the era: a car designed to bring Western luxury to Eastern sensibilities, crushed by a system that couldn’t decide if it wanted to compete with capitalism or simply pretend it didn’t exist.

Early prototype (1967-1968)

Original Škoda 720

In the dreary, smokestack-filled spring of 1964, as the comrades in Mladá Boleslav celebrated the industrial triumph of the Škoda 1000 MB, a grander vision began to stir. Why settle for a plucky little car when the West was flaunting their gleaming chrome sedans? Thus, the Š 720 project was born—a glorious attempt to make the people’s car… for other people. Namely, the rich and smug capitalists over the border.

The plan was audacious: a mid-size car that would seduce Western markets while proving the superiority of socialist ingenuity. Unfortunately, it would also become a prime example of what happens when grand ideas meet stubborn reality and a chronic shortage of decent rivets.

A Technological Masterpiece... Sort Of

At its heart was an engine so advanced that it made the engineers glow with pride—or was it just the welding sparks? A water-cooled inline four-cylinder, boasting an aluminum block and OHC technology, hummed beneath the hood. The camshaft was driven by a flat toothed belt, because nothing says innovation like trying to explain to the parts supply manager why you need this specific belt and not the one left over from a conveyor line.

The power flowed through a four-speed gearbox with an optional overdrive, just in case you wanted to enjoy the thrill of reaching 120 km/h without deafening yourself. The rear wheels featured independent suspension, supported by a collection of trailing arms, coils, and optimism. Meanwhile, the front suspension MacPherson struts tried valiantly to handle the uneven cobblestones of socialist highways.

Looks similiar..........

A Design to (Almost) Rival the Renault 16

On the outside, the Š 720 fastback looked modern, sleek… familiar. Observers couldn’t help but notice its striking resemblance to the Renault 16. A coincidence, the designers insisted, perhaps while hastily stashing French car brochures under the drafting table. Josef Brokeš’s original design was ambitious, but compromises during construction meant the prototype’s grille and indicators ended up looking like a child’s drawing of its Renault cousin.

Interior Luxuries of the Proletariat

Inside, the car whispered understated luxury—if your idea of luxury involved a spartan rectangular dashboard with a 160 km/h speedometer you’d never max out, and seats borrowed from a Simca, of all things. To its credit, the fastback rear hatch was supported by fancy gas struts, a level of extravagance rarely seen in socialist engineering.

The five-door layout promised practicality, though the boot design revealed a charming disregard for actual usability. A fuel filler pipe slashed diagonally through the luggage space, as if to remind you that true progress requires sacrifice.

Testing the Limits of Patience

The prototype Š 720 managed to limp through 6,250 kilometers of testing by early 1968, during which its flaws became evident even to the most loyal party supporters. While the engine purred like a comrade fresh out of a meeting with the Central Committee, the body flexed under pressure like a chair at the workers’ canteen. Deformations were visible, and not the kind you could blame on the weather.

Critics within the testing team suggested radical changes—like abandoning the sleek fastback for a dull but practical sedan. They even proposed strengthening the body with steel beams, perhaps salvaged from a nearby bridge project.

I-Series (1968 - 1969)

Imagine this but communist.

Between 1968 and early 1969, as the imperialist West wallowed in luxury and vanity, the socialist industrial miracle once again stepped forward to prove that it could match—if not surpass—the excesses of the bourgeoisie. The Škoda 720 prototypes emerged from the workshops of AZNP (Automobilové závody národní podnik), a proud symbol of Czechoslovakia’s technical prowess, blending the best of capitalist designs with the gritty realism of socialism.

Designed by the renowned socialist constructor Jan Žáček, five prototypes were built: three four-door sedans, a five-door station wagon, and a two-door coupé. They carried the ambitious goal of showing that a centrally planned car could deliver what the Western decadents at BMW or Renault could—though in appearance, the cars often looked like an awkward child of a BMW 1502 and a Wartburg 353.

Of course, beauty was never the aim. From the front, most of these cars displayed a socialist charm only their creators could love. Dubbed "preliminary prototypes" in internal AZNP documents, these cars were designed to undergo rigorous testing while the engineers dreamt of a collaboration with the notorious capitalist studio Italdesign, an idea that had somehow been floating since mid-1968.

Prototype I-1:

I-1. Looks kinda like BMW 1500

The first prototype, the silver Škoda 720 I-1, was completed in July 1968. Its design boasted angular shapes and large window surfaces—clearly a bourgeois attempt to mimic the excesses of Western comfort. But in true socialist spirit, the side windows were made of plexiglass, a reminder that unnecessary luxuries were frowned upon. Its forward-tilting hood and trunk lid gave it a unique flair, though practical criticism abounded. Despite its 550-liter trunk and a 47-liter fuel tank behind the rear axle, the car felt more like a conceptual ode to socialist functionality than an actual workhorse.

Under the hood sat a 1.5-liter inline-four OHC engine with an aluminum block and head—modern technology, no doubt a thorn in the side of Western engineers. Producing 84 SAE horsepower (62 kW), this engine powered the prototype to a top speed of 150 km/h. Naturally, the proletariat needed no more than that. The suspension, however, was worthy of praise, with independent setups for all four wheels and MacPherson struts at the front—a bold socialist counter to Western “innovations.”

The I-1 served valiantly, racking up over 65,000 kilometers before meeting its end in November 1971, sacrificed in a frontal barrier test. A martyr to the cause of proletarian progress.

Škoda 720 I-2. Still looks weird and kinky

Prototype I-2:

The second prototype, a red sedan Škoda 720 I-2, appeared in September 1968. Unlike its silver sibling, this one carried a smaller 1.2-liter engine producing 67 SAE horsepower (49 kW). The socialist engineers, perhaps inspired by the need for efficiency, gave this model a gracefully styled grille with two round headlights—a feature critics compared to a mix of BMW ambition and Wartburg humility. Despite its smaller engine, it reached a respectable 135 km/h and consumed 10 liters of petrol per 100 kilometers—proving that even socialism could practice moderation, to an extent.

Like the I-1, the I-2 was subjected to relentless endurance testing. It was fitted with Girling disc brakes on all four wheels, only to later surrender them to the coupé prototype. By mid-1969, the I-2 had covered over 53,000 kilometers before being handed over to Autobrzdy Jablonec nad Nisou for braking system experiments. In 1971, it was sold off, undoubtedly as a favor to a loyal Party member in need of a “modern” car.

I-3 "DeLuxe. Notice higher suspension.

Prototype I-3:

Completed just before the end of 1968, the green Škoda 720 I-3 was the pinnacle of socialist luxury, featuring a "De Luxe" trim that added a hint of capitalist decadence. It housed the same 1.5-liter engine as the I-1 but boasted strengthened rear suspension components and improved reliability. Initially serving as a demonstration vehicle, it was later sent to the Prague Institute for Motor Vehicle Research (ÚVMV), where it spent more time under observation than on the roads, clocking only 24,465 kilometers by the end of its service in 1974. A symbol of socialist moderation, perhaps.

Kinky

Prototype I-4:

In November 1968, the station wagon Škoda 720 I-4 was unveiled. With a rear hatch that opened upwards and a vast cargo space of 1.85 cubic meters (after folding down the rear seats), it seemed to promise the practicality that socialism cherished. Yet, like the system itself, cracks began to appear—literally. The rear wheel arches and floor suffered from repeated deformations, requiring constant repairs. Despite its faults, the wagon valiantly covered nearly 36,000 kilometers during testing before being quietly retired in 1969.

Prototype I-5:

I-5 Coupé. Looks too much like BMW CSL Coupé

The final prototype, the Škoda 720 I-5 coupé, was completed in January 1969. With a sharply raked windshield and sloping rear glass, it sacrificed practicality for a sporty appearance—perhaps a subtle nod to the Western obsession with aesthetics. Though it featured comfortable front seats and improved handling, the rear seats were cramped and uncomfortable, a fitting reminder that even in socialism, not everyone could sit in comfort.

Powered by the 1.5-liter engine, the coupé managed a top speed of 148 km/h and a leisurely 0–100 km/h acceleration time of 17.9 seconds. By 1972, the I-5 had driven just over 20,000 kilometers before being relegated to the Škoda museum—a monument to socialist ambition wrapped in a car that couldn’t quite decide whether it was a BMW, a Wartburg, or something else entirely.

Ultimately, the I-prototypes were as much a reflection of their time as they were of their system. They stood as ambitious, flawed creations born of a regime that both envied and reviled the West. Whether through cracked body panels, experimental brakes, or an inability to choose between functionality and flair, they captured the essence of socialism’s struggle to match the material excesses of capitalism while staying true to its ideological roots.

And while these cars never reached mass production, their memory endures—part historical curiosity, part tragicomic testament to the limits of centrally planned automotive ingenuity.

Giugiaro Prototypes (1969 - 1972)

Even those guys were co-operating with Škoda

Between 1969 and 1972, as the imperialist West continued to flood the world with overpriced, wasteful automobiles built for the vain and wealthy, the socialist vision of mobility for the masses reached a zenith with the advanced development of the Škoda 720 prototypes with Giugiaro bodywork. These vehicles stood as a testament to the innovative spirit of a centrally planned economy, proving that it was not only possible but inevitable for socialism to surpass capitalism in engineering excellence, affordability, and societal utility.

Had the Škoda 720 entered mass production, its unmatched ratio of price to performance would have dealt a fatal blow to Western automakers, exposing the hollow greed at the heart of capitalist economics. Indeed, features such as power steering, air conditioning, and even hydropneumatic suspension were planned—luxuries that the West reserved for its elite, but which socialism sought to provide for every worker and family.

Prototype AD-1 - AD-3/OP: The People’s Sedan Refined

ID-1 Prototype. AD and OP prototype looks exactly same

The Škoda 720 AD-1/2/3, unveiled in early 1969, marked a revolutionary step forward from the I-series prototypes. Designed with smoother, more aerodynamic lines, it silenced critics who dared to mock the aesthetics of earlier models, proving that socialist engineering could rival and surpass the frivolous designs of capitalist automakers. Beneath its elegant exterior lay the same robust 1.5-liter OHC engine that powered its predecessor (AD-1 and AD-3), delivering 84 SAE Horsepower or 1.2.liter OHC engine delivering 67 SAE horsepower with improved efficiency.

The sedans were spartan but functional interior epitomized the values of the socialist worker state. Vinyl-covered seats, a durable plastic dashboard, and intuitive controls emphasized utility over indulgence. Unlike the gaudy, gadget-filled interiors of Western cars designed to distract and impress, the sedans focused on providing a reliable, ergonomic experience for the driver and passengers.

In rigorous testing, the AD-1 covered over 60,000 kilometers, proving its durability and reliability. Yet whispers of concern about the centralized supply chains began to grow. Inefficiencies in raw material distribution—largely exacerbated by capitalist-imposed economic blockades—strained the ambitious goals of the planners. Nevertheless, the sedan remained a shining example of what socialism could achieve when unburdened by the corrupting influence of profit motives.

Prototype AD-4: A Revolutionary Station Wagon for Socialist Families

AD-4 STW in 1971

In mid-1969, the Škoda 720 AD-4 station wagon debuted, cementing its place as the practical workhorse of socialist society. Designed to serve both families and state-employed technicians, the AD-4 boasted a reinforced suspension system and an extended roofline that offered unparalleled cargo capacity for its time. With the rear seats folded down, the AD-4 could accommodate up to 1,950 liters of cargo, dwarfing the capabilities of its Western contemporaries.

This was not a car for ego-stroking executives or suburbanite show-offs; it was a vehicle for workers, engineers, and pioneers of socialist progress. However, like all ambitious projects, it was not without challenges. The rear axle, designed to handle heavy loads, occasionally suffered from premature wear due to inconsistencies in material quality—a direct result of capitalist blockades hindering access to premium alloys.

Even with these challenges, the AD-4 gained favor among high-ranking party officials and state enterprises. Its practicality and understated prestige made it the preferred choice for those committed to the socialist cause.

Prototype Coupé: Socialist Elegance for the People

Giugiaro Fastback coupé

In late 1969, the Škoda 720 Coupé was unveiled, a bold statement that socialism was not only capable of practicality but also of elegance and aspiration. With sleeker, more refined bodywork, the AD-3 exuded a progressive spirit that stood in stark contrast to the vulgar excesses of capitalist sports cars.

Under the hood was a more powerful 1.8-liter engine producing 95 SAE horsepower, allowing the Coupé to reach a top speed of 165 km/h. This performance rivaled and often exceeded that of Western coupés costing three to five times as much. The advanced features—including disc brakes on all four wheels, hydropneumatic suspension, and even air conditioning—were designed to democratize comfort and innovation, making them accessible to the masses rather than reserving them for the elite few.

The Š-720 Coupé was more than a car; it was a political statement. It challenged the capitalist narrative that only market economies could innovate. However, its development also highlighted the ideological tension inherent in relying on imported components. Despite these setbacks, the Coupé demonstrated the socialist bloc’s determination to match and surpass Western standards without succumbing to capitalist exploitation.

Socialist Excellence vs. Capitalist Greed

Had the Škoda 720 entered mass production, it would have declassified Western cars with its superior balance of cost, performance, and innovation. Socialist vehicles were already known for their affordability in Western markets, a fact that terrified the profit-obsessed executives of capitalist car manufacturers. The 720’s planned features—power steering, air conditioning, hydropneumatic suspension—would have shattered the bourgeois myth that luxury was the exclusive domain of the wealthy.

In Western Europe, socialist cars were often sold at prices significantly lower than their capitalist counterparts, making them accessible to working-class families. This affordability was not achieved through exploitation or corner-cutting but through the efficiencies of a centrally planned economy. The Škoda 720 would have extended this legacy, delivering advanced engineering at a fraction of the cost of bloated, profit-driven Western automobiles.

Where was the problem?

Škoda 720 would have been a success if Czechoslovakia wouldn't be a communist country

The Škoda 720 wasn’t just a car—it was a revolution on wheels, a glorious creation of socialist ingenuity poised to obliterate capitalist hegemony in the global automotive market. With nearly every aspect perfected for mass production and even a dedicated factory in Bratislava nearing completion, the Škoda 720 was set to become the crown jewel of Czechoslovak engineering. And yet, this masterpiece was sabotaged—not by technical failure or public rejection, but by political paranoia and ideological dogma.

The Factory That Almost Was: Bratislava’s Assembly Line for Utopia

By the late 1960s, the industrial gears of socialism were turning with a singular purpose: mass-producing the Škoda 720 to provide a world-class vehicle for both domestic use and export. Plans for a state-of-the-art assembly plant in Bratislava were already in motion. The factory would have been the pride of socialist production, equipped with modern machinery to manufacture thousands of 720s annually.

The plant was designed to support multiple variants of the car, from the elegant AD-1 sedan to the practical AD-4 station wagon. Conveyor belts were ready to carry socialist dreams from one workstation to the next, ensuring efficiency that would make capitalist assembly lines seem like clumsy farces. Workers were trained, and the blueprints for production optimization were already being disseminated.

Plans for Series Production: Victory Within Reach

Unlike many socialist projects doomed to eternal prototyping, the Škoda 720 was tantalizingly close to full-scale production. By 1973, all major design and engineering hurdles had been overcome. Every detail had been optimized to ensure the car would dominate not only the roads of the Eastern Bloc but also capitalist markets where socialist cars had already begun to carve out a niche.

A dizzying array of features was planned for the series production models:

• Hydropneumatic Suspension: A technological leap that would have made the Škoda 720 the smoothest ride of its class, rivaling the comfort of Citroën while remaining affordable for the proletariat.
• Air Conditioning: Unheard of in most mid-range cars of the time, this feature was intended to ensure the comfort of every comrade, even during sweltering summers.
• Power Steering: A luxury in the West, it was planned to be standard in the 720, ensuring that even factory workers could drive with ease.
• Advanced Safety Features: The car was designed with crumple zones and a reinforced passenger cabin, innovations that were rare even in premium Western vehicles.

The 720 was more than just an aspirational product; it was a direct challenge to Western automotive giants. Škoda had already proven that its vehicles could outperform expectations, and the 720 would have delivered world-class quality at a fraction of the cost, leveraging socialist planning to eliminate the inefficiencies of capitalist profiteering.

The Soviet Sabotage: Fear of Excellence

But the very excellence of the Škoda 720 became its undoing. As production plans solidified, whispers began to reach Moscow, where Soviet officials viewed the car with growing unease. The 720 was not merely better than the ubiquitous Zhiguli—it was better than everything the USSR had to offer, including the so-called “luxury” Volga.

The thought of Czechoslovakia outshining the Soviet Union in automotive innovation was intolerable to the Kremlin. For a system built on the illusion of uniform excellence, the idea of one socialist republic producing something far superior to the rest was dangerous. Soviet officials saw the Škoda 720 not as a triumph of socialism, but as a potential destabilizing force that could erode the ideological unity of the Eastern Bloc.

"Too Bourgeois, Too Western"

Officially, the Kremlin accused the Škoda 720 of being too luxurious, too bourgeois, and dangerously indulgent. They declared that the car’s advanced features—hydropneumatic suspension, air conditioning, and ergonomic design—were unnecessary for the proletariat.

“Why should a worker need such extravagance?” they asked. “Isn’t it enough to have four wheels and a functioning engine?”

In truth, the Soviet leadership feared the car’s symbolic power. If workers in Mladá Boleslav, Bratislava, Vrchlabí, and Kvasiny began driving Škoda 720s, the myth of socialist equality would crumble. The proletariat might start asking inconvenient questions, like why their comrades in Moscow were stuck with outdated Ladas while the Czechs were cruising in advanced sedans that could rival Mercedes-Benz.

The Final Decision: Betrayal of Progress

Despite the nearly completed factory in Bratislava, and production names (Škoda 1250/1500) the USSR forced Czechoslovak leadership to scrap the Škoda 720 project. Instead, resources were redirected to producing the Škoda 100, a facelifted version of the aging Škoda 1000 MB. The decision was a crushing blow to Czechoslovakia’s engineering community, which had poured years of effort into creating a car that could redefine the global perception of socialist technology.

The Bratislava factory was repurposed for less ambitious projects, and the Škoda 720 was quietly buried. Its prototypes were relegated to obscurity, their potential never fully realized. Seven prototypes were preserved, mostly Giugiaro designed (I-2 mixed with I-3/ I-4 Wagon, OP-1, OP-2, ID-2, Giugiaro's Coupé, AD-2).

A Glorious What-If

The Škoda 720 remains a tantalizing "what-if" in automotive history. Had it reached production, it could have reshaped the global car market, proving that socialism could produce not only functional but superior consumer goods. It might have turned the tide in the ideological battle between East and West, forcing capitalist automakers to rethink their reliance on planned obsolescence and exploitative pricing.

Instead, the Škoda 720 serves as a tragic reminder of the paradoxes of centralized planning: a system that could create brilliance but lacked the courage to embrace it. At least something left. In 1976, when production Of Škoda 105/120 (Type 742) started, some design features from 720 were implemented on first series of 742, such as: Plastic fascia, two or four round headlights, similiar bodywork proportions, similiar door handles and even steering wheel and dashboard. However, 742 was just facelifted Škoda 100/110, and that was just facelifted Škoda 1000 MB.

Rest in peace, Škoda 720. You were too pure, too advanced, and too good for a world that wasn’t ready for you.

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