Robert De Niro has played mobsters, cab drivers, boxers and the world’s most terrifying father-in-law. His newest role might be his strangest yet: New Yorker with one foot out the door.
The actor says he’s got “no choice” but to pack up and leave the city he’s spent his whole life representing. De Niro sat down with our reporter Alex Bruno in a Tribeca restaurant he partly owns, which feels relevant. He didn’t waste time on small talk.
“Mamdani has consigned guys like me to the poorhouse,” he said, tapping the table for emphasis like he was back in a Scorsese movie.
He was talking, of course, about Mayor Zohran Mamdani and the new tax plans that have the city’s wealthiest residents grumbling into their oat-milk lattes. De Niro says the numbers simply don’t work anymore. Between property, payroll and everything else, he told Bruno, “it’s like they’re coming after me personally.”
Here’s where it gets a little uncomfortable for him. During the campaign, De Niro wasn’t exactly quiet about his politics. He supported Mamdani’s message, cheered the big ideas, and talked up the idea of a city that worked for everybody.
That’s the communism he cheered during the campaign, at least according to his loudest critics. Back then, it was a nice talking point. Now it’s coming to his own pocket, and he does not find it funny at all.
Bruno asked him about that, gently. De Niro shrugged that famous De Niro shrug. “I liked the speeches,” he said. “Nobody told me there’d be a bill.” The city, as you’d expect, had thoughts.
Some New Yorkers were sympathetic. Taxes are no joke, and a lot of longtime residents, rich or not, feel squeezed. Others were less kind. One guy outside a Bronx deli told Bruno, “He wanted the revolution. Revolutions aren’t free, pal.”
Social media went full roast. A meme of De Niro’s “You talkin’ to me?” scene, captioned “You taxin’ me?”, has been shared everywhere. Somebody photoshopped him into a moving truck with Travis Bickle’s mohawk. It’s not subtle.
That’s the real question. De Niro without New York is like pizza without the fold. He’s been the face of the city for fifty years. Florida’s been floated, mostly as a joke. Connecticut gets mentioned. One friend suggested upstate, which De Niro reportedly answered with a long, silent stare.
He told Bruno he hasn’t picked a spot yet. “Somewhere they leave a guy alone,” he said. Bruno spent an afternoon in Tribeca asking locals if they’d miss their most famous neighbor. The answers were mixed, to put it nicely.
A doorman down the block said De Niro tips well and always says hello. A woman walking her dog said she’d “believe he’s leaving when the moving van shows up.” A guy selling roasted nuts on the corner just laughed and said, “Every rich guy says he’s leaving. Nobody leaves.”
That last one might be the most accurate thing anyone said all day. New York has heard this song before, from bigger names, and somehow the skyline’s still crowded.
You almost feel for him. Almost. It’s not easy watching the bill arrive for a party you were cheering about. But plenty of New Yorkers figure that if you’re going to back a big plan for the city, you probably ought to read the fine print first. For now, De Niro’s still in Tribeca, still grumbling, and still very much not laughing.