The allegations of sexual misconduct against the Oscar winner Jared Leto that came out last week in a BBC documentary were not a surprise to some in Hollywood. This was another case of, in certain circles, “everybody knows,” as the industry saying goes. Yet that widespread knowledge has been insufficient to produce meaningful consequences.

Hollywood has always been a town of dark rumors about the terrible, often abusive behavior of some of its most prominent citizens, many of which turn out to be true. As a journalist covering the entertainment business, I’ve been made aware of these “open secrets” constantly. But that didn’t mean I could necessarily write about them. There was an entire system in place to keep the victims quiet and keep any revelations out of the public eye.

That familiar dynamic played out when it comes to Mr. Leto. The BBC documentary, titled “Jared Leto: Hollywood’s Dark Secret,” delves into allegations of misconduct involving the actor and singer, building impressively on 2025 reporting by Elena Clavarino in AirMail — which Mr. Leto denied at the time — and compiling more than 120 online allegations relating to harassment and sexual misconduct. The documentary also depicts an array of enablers: people who would make sure teenage girls were brought backstage, invited to after parties and escorted to hotel rooms. The film paints a damning portrait of a man who used his Hollywood fame and rock-star persona to initiate troubling physical and verbal contact with women, most very young, all powerless compared to him.

Mr. Leto did not initially reply to the BBC’s inquiries and, once the documentary was released, he issued this statement: “I have never sexually assaulted anyone in my entire life. These claims are absolutely and categorically false.”

This response follows what’s now become a familiar pattern. Once, a celebrity might have issued an aggrieved or lengthy rebuttal or a strenuous apology, but a new playbook has emerged. The blueprint is fairly consistent, often undertaken in conjunction with a pricey assortment of law firms and spin doctors: Ignore everything, or stonewall with “no comment.” Maybe deny the allegations with a succinct sentence or two. Then either unleash hell on a publication and reporter in an attempt to quash the reporting, or say nothing further and wait for the scandal to pass.

Hollywood has an ignoble history of covering up stars’ horrible behavior, but in the wake of #MeToo, a new well-oiled anti-accountability machine has flourished. The shrinking array of publications dedicated to covering Hollywood are not only often in rough financial shape but they’re dependent on celebrity coverage — so they’re vulnerable to being intimidated by threats of losing access to other celebrities, or they’re likely to be tempted by enticing stories that will happen only if the outlet agrees to play ball.

The new crisis-management playbook involves simply riding out horrible rumors and fostering a counternarrative that discounts reports as untruthful and unreliable. Law firms persuade survivors to recant while PR operatives muddy the waters online by making efforts to “adjust the narrative in real time,” as one firm’s services were described in documents from the Blake Lively-Justin Baldoni case.

Thanks to years of reporting on these topics, as well as writing a book on power and complicity in Hollywood, I’m all too familiar with these scenarios. I also appear onscreen in “Hollywood’s Dark Secret” to explain some of the power imbalances and abusive dynamics that fester in high-profile creative enterprises. When Alice McShane, the director of the BBC film, reached out to me, the queries she and the lead reporter Jessica Sartenaer had essentially boiled down to one big question: If “everybody knew” about the rumors about Leto, then why was nothing ever done?

There are many answers to that question, and here’s one honest one: I don’t know. No victimizer seems worthy of the industry’s protection. No level of artistic achievement makes putting up with horrific behavior worthwhile. But there are other reasons for this kind of industrywide strategic apathy.

For over a century, almost all of the incentive structures in the commercial entertainment industries have allowed patterns of misbehavior and rewarded silence. Physical and mental abuse and boundary-crossing, especially in men, are tolerated as artistic passion and creative exploration. If you’re opposed to someone’s “passion” or their process — if you don’t celebrate how they move through the world — then you just don’t understand art. And when a lot of people make a percentage off the earnings of one famous individual, the capacity for denial is vast.

On a film or TV set or in a recording studio, there are usually a few people who have disproportionate power — a star artist, a top producer, a big-name director, a powerful executive. Hollywood has long had many ways to punish or blacklist those who are brave enough to speak out against them. Truth tellers are often told they’re misreading their own experience, that everyone else is cool with what’s happening, and that they’ll never work again if they talk.

The women interviewed in the Leto documentary are, like the hundreds of sources I’ve personally interacted with, regular people who risked a lot by coming forward. In my opinion, they did not do it for money, attention or acclaim — they often get the opposite — but to try to prevent what they went through from happening to others.

The truth is, a bombshell like the BBC’s documentary should not be necessary, as there were published reports of Mr. Leto’s sleazy behavior as early as 2005. There’s also been a steady stream of gossipy intimations online and outright accusations in social media posts. But that’s precisely why the BBC’s work is so valuable. I don’t mean to disrespect those who come forward via social media but it’s much harder to ignore or dismiss a documentary than an Instagram post.

Even when allegations come via deeply reported pieces, another pattern has became clear: Waiting out the furor can actually work. Louis C.K.’s sold-out comedy tours, Grammy win and new Netflix special are all indications that a so-called cancellation usually has a built-in expiration date. PR people and powerful managers often count on members of the public having short attention spans and a willingness to give previously beloved celebrities the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe the latest furor around Mr. Leto will die down and he’ll land yet another plum role. A 2027 tour for his band, 30 Seconds to Mars, is already in the works. As the media landscape has become more perilous, the appetite for this kind of contentious reporting has seemed to fade.

It’s telling that it took a full-length documentary from the BBC to deliver what one hopes will be a clarion call about an actor whom so many people have already tried to raise the alarm about. But take it from me, one of the rare reporters to have done misconduct reporting for many different kinds of publications: Sometimes you need a big legacy media brand to do a huge, unimpeachable investigation (that lawyers have vetted six ways from Sunday) to finally make a difference.

Will it stick this time? Nobody knows. This kind of reporting always requires a leap of faith and the consequences are never assured.

But “Hollywood’s Dark Secret” sends a timely, urgent message: Those who think they have impunity should not assume they’ll have it forever.

Maureen Ryan is a former TV critic and the author of “Burn It Down: Power, Complicity, and a Call for Change in Hollywood.” She is working on a book about “Battlestar Galactica.”

Source photograph by Christian Adams/Getty Images.

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