Chris Brown’s “history of violence” has never been so thoroughly elucidated as it is in a new documentary premiering this weekend on Investigation Discovery. Brown is a self-avowed abuser of former girlfriend Rihanna, whom he horrifically battered on the eve of the 2009 Grammy Awards, and in the years since, the R&B singer has been the subject of lawsuits and accusations from multiple women who claim that he physically, verbally, emotionally, or sexually assaulted them.

In terms of vile reputations, only a few celebrities have him beat—such as Diddy, who was a long-time friend of Brown’s, and was even the host of a get-together where Brown allegedly raped an aspiring dancer. At the time, Brown indirectly denied the reports with an Instagram message that read, “Whenever I’m releasing music or projects, ‘THEY’ try to pull some real bulls--t.”

Timed to Domestic Violence Awareness Month and produced with No More (a global domestic violence initiative) as part of its “No Excuse for Abuse” campaign along with Ample Entertainment, ID’s Chris Brown: A History of Violence (Oct. 27) is a harrowing documentary recap of Brown’s unseemly track record with women. Of its many ugly details, perhaps none is as unnerving as Brown’s alleged assault of a young woman at a yacht party thrown by the since-disgraced Diddy.

Hiding her face on-camera and identifying herself as Jane Doe in order to shield herself from online harassment and hate, the victim takes viewers step by step through the story of her scarring ordeal, from being invited to the shindig by a Los Angeles promoter, to meeting and receiving a drink from Brown, to being led to the ship’s bedroom, where, she alleges, she soon lost her bearings and control of her body as he violated her, repeatedly kissing her mouth to stifle her cries.

“Chris Brown raped me,” she proclaims. “And I can say that, and I know it for a fact. Instead of telling myself that it wasn’t. It was. It was rape.”

Jane Doe’s accusation led to a $20 million lawsuit but was dismissed by conflicting text message records, and the fact that her lawyer Ariel Mitchell eventually departed the case suggests that questions remain about this incident. Nonetheless, Mitchell also makes clear in Chris Brown: A History of Violence that she firmly believes that Brown was guilty of the charges, and moreover, that the music industry protects him and other predators. That Brown kept making music and retained an enormous fanbase—he’s reportedly the second-most followed male artist on Instagram—supports that notion, as does his repeated success at avoiding grave legal penalties for his misconduct. Even with his assault of Rihanna, of which there was incontrovertible photographic evidence, Brown merely received a slap on the wrist: Five years of probation and approximately six months of community labor.

There’s no doubt that Brown viciously beat Rihanna, repeatedly punching her in the face while driving his Lamborghini after trying to throw her out of the moving vehicle, threatening to “beat the shit out of you when we get home,” and warning her that “You just did the stupidest thing ever. Now I’m really going to kill you!” The scandal may have hurt his next album’s sales, but Brown’s career continued unabated, complete with hordes of female fans willing to dismiss or ignore the accusations against him, and to slander anyone who dared tarnish his name—be it his subsequent girlfriend Karrueche Tran in 2015, or his manager and tour manager in 2016, not to mention infamous outbursts at Good Morning America and one involving his own mother.

“The most difficult aspect is controlling myself around the ladies. I just be ridiculous, cuz I love them so much,” a young Brown admits in one of Chris Brown: A History of Violence’s archival interviews. The film pairs that material with new conversations with culture writer Scaachi Koul, broadcast journalist Sharon Carpenter, LAPD Sergeant Cheryl Dorsey, and domestic violence expert Dr. Carolyn West, who explains that Brown’s violent tendencies might be related to—if are not excused by—his childhood. ID’s documentary intersperses its commentary with snapshots of women holding placards featuring depressing statistics about domestic violence, underscoring that Brown’s saga is just a more high-profile version of a terrible tale that’s told ad nauseam in this and every other country.

Brown’s representatives decry these claims as “malicious and false,” but Chris Brown: A History of Violence points out that Brown is the sole constant in a long-running pattern of hostile encounters. Koul argues that the artist hasn’t faced serious repercussions for his actions because he’s famous and his victims, save for Rihanna, are not; their facelessness allows them to come across as somehow less legitimate than Brown, whom people already know and adore. The larger notion forwarded by the documentary, however, is that sexual assaults are difficult to prove, and that in the absence of bedrock proof, the benefit of the doubt often goes to the accused rather than the accuser.

Aside from Jane Doe’s first-person testimony, there’s nothing in Chris Brown: A History of Violence that isn’t already in the public record. Still, the film proves a damning compendium of alleged misdeeds and unconvincing denials. When, after Liziane Gutierrez filed a police report against Brown for allegedly punching her in the face at a Las Vegas party (because she dared to use her forbidden phone), Brown responded by posting a video that slandered her looks, revealing not only his callousness but his wholesale lack of remorse. It’s little surprise, then, that in 2024, he was sued for $50 million by four male concertgoers who contend that they were brutally beaten by the singer and members of his entourage.

Following its hour-long critique, Chris Brown: A History of Violence concludes with a half-hour sit-down between The View host Sunny Hostin and a collection of individuals—including Koul, National Domestic Violence Hotline CEO Katie Ray-Jones, No More’s Jane Randel, and 2024 Miss Kansas Alexis Smith, who called out a man she described as her “abuser” on the pageant stage—that further delves into this ongoing societal scourge.

Of particular note during these chats is Ray-Jones’ advice that victims of abuse take note of household items which can be used against them (such as kitchen knives), as well as develop strategies for making a quick and safe escape. In those helpful tips, the documentary highlights the sorts of nightmarish, misogynistic realities created by men like Chris Brown.