The Dark Side of the Creative Industries

The Dark Side of the Creative Industries: Where Access Becomes a Weapon

Please note: I am not accusing anyone of anything beyond what has been reported in reputable outlets or established in court. Where I discuss allegations, I am describing patterns and public reporting, and I am careful to distinguish between proven misconduct, contested claims, and cultural controversy.

Access. Silence. Power. Repeat.

The creative industries sell dreams. That is the product. And because the product is hope, the industry attracts people who need hope. Young talent. Broke talent. Isolated talent. Neurodivergent talent. Foreign talent. Working-class talent. People who cannot afford to walk away from the room where “the opportunity” is happening.

That is the first dark truth. The system is built to trap you in the room. And once you are trapped, behaviour that appears harmless becomes the key that unlocks worse behaviour.

1) The permission structure: why predators and parasites thrive here

Creative work runs on informal power.

The gatekeeper who can “get you in a room.”

The producer who can “attach talent.”

The agent who can “make calls.”

The editor who can “move your book.”

The commissioner who can “greenlight.”

The mentor who can “develop you.”

That power is rarely transparent and almost never accountable.

So the industry becomes a perfect habitat for two overlapping forms of abuse.

Abusers of bodies, including sexual coercion, harassment, grooming, and assault.

Abusers of labour, including idea theft, credit stripping, coercive contracts, NDAs, and reputational blackmail.

Different harms. Same mechanics. Access traded for silence.

2) “Everyone knew” is not a conspiracy. It is an operating system.

When Jimmy Savile finally became publicly understood as a prolific abuser, the most nauseating detail was not only what he did. It was how long the ecosystem made room for it. That ecosystem was not one villain. It was thousands of small permissions. Tolerated rumours. Winked-at behaviour at the BBC. “That is just how he is.” The repeated decision to protect the brand over the vulnerable.

That is why operations like Operation Yewtree mattered. Not because institutions suddenly developed morality, but because public pressure made denial too expensive.

This is not ancient history. The UK has continued to see high-profile cases that collide with the same institutional question. How did this person stay embedded for so long? Former BBC presenter Huw Edwards was sentenced in September 2024 after pleading guilty to making indecent images of children.

The details change. The pattern does not.

3) The charity-party pipeline: when “networking” is camouflage

If you want to understand how predation hides in plain sight, look at the spaces the industry calls normal.

The afterparty

The VIP room

The festival apartment

The “private dinner”

The “industry drinks”

The Presidents Club scandal is a case study in this social architecture. A black-tie fundraiser where hostesses reported harassment and assault-like behaviour in an environment specifically designed to dissolve boundaries. Investigations and official reporting followed.

This matters because the creative industries love these spaces. They are where “relationships” are built. They are also where consent becomes blurred by alcohol, status, fear, and isolation.

4) The Weinstein blueprint: power as a closed door

Harvey Weinstein became shorthand for a system where a person’s career prospects were used as leverage for sexual access. Even with convictions, appeals, retrials, and complex legal turns, the cultural lesson remains brutally stable. A single powerful figure can become an industrial bottleneck. Bottlenecks are where coercion thrives.

This is not only about sex. The same bottleneck logic enables financial and creative exploitation. The favour you owe. The credit that disappears. The project you are told to be grateful to be near.

5) The comedy problem: “it was a joke” as a protective cloak

Comedy is a particular corner of the creative world because it has a built-in invisibility spell.

If you object, you are humourless.

If you complain, you are sensitive.

If you speak up, you are the problem.

This does not mean comedians are predators. It means the culture around comedy can become a shield. A way to test boundaries publicly and normalise transgression privately.

6) The Walliams and Lucas storm: controversy, allegations, and consequences

David Walliams has faced multiple public controversies over the years. These include material now widely criticised, leaked behind-the-scenes remarks, and association with environments later exposed as toxic. The development that materially changed his publishing situation is this.

In December 2025, multiple reputable outlets reported that HarperCollins UK decided it would no longer publish new titles by David Walliams following allegations of inappropriate behaviour toward women, reported as involving junior staff. Walliams, through a spokesperson, strongly denied wrongdoing and stated that he was seeking legal advice.

Additional knock-on effects were reported, including his removal from a children’s book festival line-up after the HarperCollins decision.

David Walliams controversies include the following.

Simulating sexual acts on minors

Walliams has faced criticism for certain comedy sketches, notably the “Hide the Sausage” routine performed during Little Britain live tours. In these sketches, he portrayed a fictional children’s entertainer engaging in inappropriate behaviour with teenage boys, including pulling down trousers and simulating sexual acts. These performances were later condemned for their disturbing content.

The “Hide the Sausage” sketch formed part of the Little Britain Live shows that ran between 2005 and 2007.

Sexual abuse disguised as humour

At the time, this material was framed as outrageous comedy. In retrospect, many now view it as deeply inappropriate, particularly in light of growing awareness around grooming culture and how abuse can be masked as entertainment.

Inappropriate sexually explicit comments about a minor

In 2011, during an appearance on Chris Moyles’ Quiz Night, Walliams made a sexually explicit joke about then seventeen-year-old Harry Styles. The comment drew complaints and was criticised for normalising inappropriate behaviour.

Sexual harassment context

Walliams hosted the Presidents Club charity dinner in 2018, later exposed for widespread sexual harassment of hostesses. Although he claimed he was unaware of the misconduct and left immediately after his set, his association with the event attracted criticism. Some bookstores temporarily removed his books from sale.

Derogatory and sexually explicit workplace comments

In January 2020, during breaks in filming Britain’s Got Talent, Walliams was recorded making derogatory and sexually explicit comments about contestants. These recordings were leaked in 2022, leading to public backlash. Walliams apologised, stating the remarks were never intended for broadcast.

Whistleblower and victim blaming concerns

Following the leak, Walliams filed a lawsuit against FremantleMedia alleging misuse of private information and data protection breaches. He stated that the leak caused psychiatric harm and financial loss. The case was settled in November 2023 with an apology from Fremantle. Many observers viewed this action as an example of how legal power can be used to deter or punish those associated with disclosure.

Perceived racism

Also in 2020, Little Britain and Come Fly With Me were removed from Netflix and BBC iPlayer due to the use of blackface characters by both Lucas and Walliams. Other characters from the shows have also faced sustained backlash.

I loved Little Britain at the time. I do not remember ever watching Come Fly With Me. Cultural tolerances change. That does not erase the need to interrogate what was normalised and why.

On Matt Lucas and online speculation

On Matt Lucas, there exists a significant volume of online speculation, commentary, and accusation across social media and informal platforms. These claims vary widely in severity and are often presented without evidentiary standards, judicial findings, or investigative reporting.

The existence of online allegations does not constitute proof. Nor does it justify public conviction by rumour. However, the persistence and scale of such discourse point to a wider institutional problem. When accountability mechanisms are weak or inaccessible, speculation fills the vacuum. Silence from institutions does not resolve suspicion. It amplifies it.

Just because David Walliams and Matt Lucas have a documented history of sexually charged humour, controversial material involving minors, and repeated public backlash does not mean they are definitively suspects of sexual abuse. It does, however, raise serious questions about how long such material was normalised, defended, and institutionally protected.

Is this a case of Tweedle-touchy-sausage and Tweedle-drug-before-you-rape. Or are all the many reports wrong?

Litigation abuse as a form of bullying and harassment

In the creative industries, legal action is frequently used not to resolve disputes, but to intimidate and silence. The threat of litigation, whether framed as defamation, privacy, data protection, or breach of confidence, can function as a coercive weapon. This practice is often referred to as litigation abuse or SLAPP-style behaviour.

The harm is not limited to the outcome of a case. The harm lies in the process itself. Legal costs, reputational risk, and prolonged uncertainty are often enough to force people into silence regardless of whether their claims are truthful.

This is not a fringe concern. The UK government has formally acknowledged the problem through anti-SLAPP provisions introduced in the Economic Crime and Corporate Transparency Act 2023. These provisions recognise that some lawsuits are brought primarily to suppress public participation rather than to seek justice.

High-profile figures in entertainment demonstrate how this imbalance operates. David Walliams pursued legal action against Fremantle following the leak of private footage from Britain’s Got Talent. The case was settled with an apology. Regardless of the merits of that dispute, it illustrates how swiftly legal pressure can be mobilised by those with money, lawyers, and institutional backing.

Matt Lucas has also previously brought successful legal action in relation to privacy and press intrusion. The issue is not whether a public figure has the right to protect their private life. The issue is structural. When well-resourced individuals repeatedly rely on legal mechanisms to control narratives, criticism and testimony become too risky for those in weaker positions.

This dynamic becomes especially dangerous when allegations of misconduct are involved. Survivors and whistleblowers frequently report that once they speak publicly, they face counter-accusations, solicitor letters, and threats of legal consequences. Even without a case reaching court, the psychological and financial toll can be devastating.

Aljoscha Quooss has spoken publicly about the risks and consequences of coming forward, including fear of legal retaliation and narrative reversal. This tactic, where those alleging harm are reframed as harassers or troublemakers, is a recognised feature of litigation abuse. It shifts attention away from the original allegation and places the burden back onto the person with the least power to defend themselves.

Litigation abuse thrives in industries built on reputation, access, and informal power. The law does not need to be used frequently to be effective. It only needs to be used visibly. Each high-profile legal action sends a warning. Silence is safer. Speaking costs too much.

Litigation, silence, and the comedy circuit question

A separate but related thread has emerged from within the UK comedy world itself. It centres on Katherine Ryan, Daniel Sloss, and a warning that has landed with force precisely because of how carefully it has been phrased.

Katherine Ryan has publicly stated that there is a very famous predator operating within the UK comedy circuit who weaponises the court system to silence accusers. She has been clear about one thing. The individual is powerful, active, and protected. She has also been clear about what she will not do. She will not name them publicly, because to do so would invite immediate legal retaliation.

That framing matters. This is not gossip. It is structural critique. The allegation is not simply that abuse exists, but that the legal system itself is being used as a shield.

Many online commentators have speculated that Ryan was referring to Russell Brand. That assumption does not align with recent commentary from Daniel Sloss.

Appearing on the Drunk Podcast, Sloss stated that Russell Brand is not a comic or a peer. He said he knows things that are unrepeatable and that Brand is not a good man, adding that he would say more off camera.

For anyone familiar with Sloss’ style, this restraint is telling. He routinely names comedians directly when criticising their behaviour. His refusal to elaborate in this case strongly suggests legal risk rather than uncertainty.

Crucially, Sloss also framed Brand as not being part of the comedy circuit. Whatever Brand’s past, he is not embedded in the contemporary stand-up scene in the way Ryan described. He is not a gatekeeper within that circuit.

Ryan’s warning appears to concern someone who is still active. Someone whose presence is ongoing. Someone whose legal reputation is so formidable that even established comedians choose their words with care.

Taken together, Ryan’s statement and Sloss’ remarks suggest an environment in which multiple individuals, perhaps working together, may be privately known, but only some are speakable publicly. The real line of fear is not social backlash. It is legal consequence.

This is how silence is enforced in modern creative industries. Through reputation, precedent, and the understanding that certain names come with lawyers already attached.

The danger is not only that an alleged predator remains unnamed. The danger is that the circuit learns the lesson being taught. There are people you do not talk about. There are stories you do not tell. If you do, you will be buried in paperwork until you cannot afford to keep speaking.

That is not justice. That is intimidation by design.

A culture can be unsafe even when no crime is proven.

A public persona can appear harmless while power dynamics behind the scenes are sharp.

Institutions often act only when reputational cost outweighs protection.

The Walliams publishing decision illustrates this clearly. When the brand becomes a liability, the door closes fast.

Baby Reindeer and the architecture of silence

When Baby Reindeer entered the public conversation, it was widely discussed as a story about stalking, trauma, and obsession. What received less sustained attention was what the series exposed about how silence is manufactured inside creative industries, and how long that silence can be maintained when power aligns against the vulnerable.

For those of us who have been raising concerns for years, Baby Reindeer did not feel revelatory. It felt familiar.

The pattern depicted is not unique. A vulnerable creative seeks opportunity, mentorship, or belonging. A more powerful figure offers access. Boundaries are crossed. Harm occurs. When the victim tries to speak, they encounter disbelief, minimisation, procedural inertia, and quiet warnings about reputational risk. Not outright threats, but enough friction to make persistence unbearable.

This is the same pattern I have been documenting through what I refer to as cries of silence investigations. Not a single event, but a long accumulation of ignored warnings, stalled complaints, institutional deflection, and narrative reversal. Again and again, concerns are redirected into private processes, internal reviews, or legal corridors where time, money, and exhaustion do the work that accountability refuses to do.

Baby Reindeer mattered because it broke containment. It forced an experience that had previously been fragmented, minimised, or dismissed into public coherence. It showed that silence is not accidental. It is engineered.

In both the series and in real-world cases, the system’s first response is rarely to investigate the alleged harm. It is to assess risk. Not risk to the vulnerable person, but risk to the brand, the institution, or the powerful individual involved. Once that calculation is made, the machinery activates. Delay. Legal caution. Reframing. Doubt. Isolation.

Those who speak are often recast as unstable, obsessive, malicious, or unreliable. Their credibility is eroded not through evidence, but through implication. Their lives narrow as professional doors quietly close. The harm compounds.

What Baby Reindeer exposed, intentionally or not, is that the most damaging abuse is often not the original act, but the years of enforced silence that follow. The slow grind of being unheard. The psychological toll of watching others advance while your own credibility is quietly buried. The realisation that truth alone is not enough when the system has no incentive to hear it.

This is why public narratives matter. Not because they replace investigation, but because they disrupt the comfort of denial. Baby Reindeer did not prove anything in a legal sense. It did something else. It made silence expensive. It loudly galvanised public awareness. Richard Gadd may have done more to clean up the UK entertainment and talent industries than any other person in history. He has given others a voice… a voice that will no longer be slaved by cheaters and predators.

For those of us who have been shouting into voids for years, that matters. Not as vindication, but as confirmation. The problem was never a lack of evidence. It was a lack of will and an abundance of rich predators.

The danger now is repetition. That Baby Reindeer becomes another moment of outrage that fades, while the underlying structures remain intact. That institutions express concern, commission reviews, and then return to business as usual once attention moves on.

Cries of silence are not dramatic. They are procedural. They accumulate in emails unanswered, complaints parked, investigations that never quite begin. Baby Reindeer showed the human cost of that accumulation.

Cries of silence is not done with these predators yet. Its success can be traced and will continue. The question is not whether more stories will emerge. They will. The question is whether the system will keep teaching the same lesson. Speak up, and you will be left alone with it.

7) The second abuse: the theft of work, credit, and life

Sexual predation is the headline-grabber. It should be. But another form of abuse ruins lives more quietly.

Idea laundering

Unpaid development

“Submit your life story” schemes

NDAs used as gag orders

Gatekeepers farming slush piles for “fit”

This abuse thrives because it is hard to prove, expensive to litigate, and socially discouraged to name. Those who speak up are labelled bitter, paranoid, difficult, or unprofessional, then blacklisted. Persist, and you may find yourself uninvited from the rooms that decide your future.

8) What would actually change this

Not vibes. Not hashtags. Not a one-off code of conduct nobody reads.

Real change requires independent reporting channels that do not funnel complaints back to power. Transparent audit trails for submissions, development, credit, and payments. Limits on NDAs where public interest and safeguarding are at stake. Festival and venue safeguarding standards that treat industry nightlife as a known risk environment. Union and legal support structures that do not require existing wealth to access protection.

Because the core sickness is structural. When access is everything, people will abuse it unless the system makes abuse expensive.

When power falls, the message is unmistakable

History has already shown that proximity to power is not permanent protection.

Figures once considered untouchable have been investigated, exposed, and in some cases prosecuted. The names differ across politics, finance, royalty, and global celebrity, but the lesson is consistent. When scrutiny finally arrives, status does not stop it.

Public reckoning has reached senior political figures such as Peter Mandelson, whose associations and influence were once considered beyond question, and establishment figures such as Lord Brittan, who was investigated in relation to historical abuse allegations during the post-Yewtree era. Even where individuals were not charged or were deceased, the process itself marked a shift. Silence was no longer guaranteed by office.

The same applies to the upper reaches of royalty and global finance. Prince Andrew was forced into a civil settlement and withdrew from public duties following allegations connected to Jeffrey Epstein, a convicted sex offender whose network revealed how wealth and celebrity had been used for decades to evade accountability. Ghislaine Maxwell was convicted and sentenced for her role in facilitating Epstein’s abuse.

These cases matter not only because of who was involved, but because of what they dismantled. The myth that elite social circles, political proximity, or cultural importance could indefinitely shield abuse from consequence. This is a huge win for human decency.

Entertainment and celebrity culture is not separate from these systems. It mirrors them. The same mechanisms operate. Access is traded. Silence is rewarded. Complaints are delayed. Lawyers replace accountability. Institutions protect reputation first and people second.

For years, the entertainment industry relied on the assumption that exposure would never fully arrive. That allegations would remain fragmented. That victims would burn out. That public attention would move on. That abusers could retire, passing the problem of accountability onto the next person in the hot seat.

THAT ASSUMPTION IS FAILING.

Each high-profile exposure sends a message outward. If senior politicians, financiers, and royals can be scrutinised, investigated, and publicly reckoned with, then no creative industry insider should assume permanent immunity. Fame is not insulation. Talent is not absolution. Cultural contribution is not a shield. The public mood has shifted. The tolerance for secrecy has collapsed. The appetite for accountability is no longer limited to one industry, one class, one people, or one type of power.

The message is now clear.

The era of hiding behind prestige is ending.

The era of legal intimidation as camouflage is closing.

And the public is no longer asking quietly.

They are watching.

They are connecting patterns.

And they are coming for systems that protect abusers, not just individuals.

That is not revenge.

That is consequence.

The RECO claim and the Riot Games dispute: access, asset stripping, and alleged defrauding of stakeholders

My own involvement in this investigation is not theoretical. It is grounded in an ongoing RECO action and related disputes concerning the handling, exploitation, and alleged misappropriation of creative assets connected to my work.

At the centre of this dispute are Riot Games, elements of the UK literary agency ecosystem, and senior industry figures including Jonny Geller and Felicity Blunt, both associated with Curtis Brown Group.

The core allegation is not simply copyright infringement. It is structural. It concerns how creative assets are allegedly moved, repurposed, and monetised through overlapping agency, production, and corporate relationships, while the originating creator is excluded, silenced, or financially erased.

In my case, I allege that creative material and underlying intellectual property were exploited without consent or compensation, and that those assets were subsequently leveraged, licensed, or sold in ways that benefited corporate partners and intermediaries, while leaving the originating rights holder without remuneration. This includes allegations that assets were used to support valuations, development slates, and commercial products, without proper disclosure or accounting.

Within a RECO framework, the focus is not a single act, but a pattern of behaviour. Repeated conduct. Repeated beneficiaries. Repeated use of gatekeeping power to control access, narrative, and legal recourse. The concern is that this pattern may amount to racketeering-style activity in which creative labour is systematically stripped, repackaged, and monetised, while risk and loss are externalised onto individual creators and, by extension, stakeholders.

One of the most serious aspects of these allegations is the potential defrauding of stakeholders. If creative assets are misrepresented, improperly sourced, or ethically compromised, and then used to underpin investments, acquisitions, or shareholder value, the harm extends beyond the creator. It reaches investors, partners, and the public market itself. Stakeholders are entitled to know whether the assets they are funding or profiting from are cleanly acquired, transparently licensed, and lawfully exploited.

This is where the parallels with other sections of this article become unavoidable. The same systems that silence victims of personal abuse can also silence creators raising concerns about financial and intellectual exploitation. Legal intimidation. Procedural delay. Reputation management. Closed-door settlements. The goal is not resolution. It is attrition.

I am asserting dispute. I am asserting that serious questions exist, that those questions have not been adequately answered, and that the mechanisms available to individual creators to seek accountability are profoundly asymmetrical when set against multinational corporations and elite agency networks.

What matters here is not my case alone. It is what my case illustrates. A creative economy in which access is tightly controlled, transparency is optional, and those who challenge the system are framed as disruptive rather than wronged. A system in which alleged asset stripping can occur in parallel with public narratives of diversity, creativity, and ethical leadership.

If these allegations are tested and upheld, they will not simply reflect on individual actors. They will expose systemic weaknesses in how intellectual property is handled, valued, and safeguarded within the entertainment industry. If they are dismissed without proper examination, that too sends a message. Not about innocence, but about abuse of power and money.

This is why RECO matters. Not as vengeance. Not as spectacle. But as a mechanism to examine whether creative industries have allowed patterns of exploitation to harden into business models, and whether those models have been quietly normalised at the expense of creators and stakeholders alike.

Access was offered.

Silence was expected.

Power was exercised.

The dispute now exists because that silence did not hold.

This wolf is famished and smells blood!

M.W. WOLF.