Judi Dench is struggling with Me Too – but so are all of us, and that's exactly the point

One of the most poignant storylines in the latest series of Big Little Lies develops as Meryl Streep’s character, Mary Louise Wright, attempts to reconcile what she is being told about her late son – that he was a domestic abuser and a rapist – with the child she had known and loved. Mary’s grief manifests as dumbfounding insensitivity, shining a light on the extensive trail of victims left behind following situations of abuse.

It’s a perspective we rarely see: the anguish of those who knew and loved alleged perpetrators attempting to grapple with how this person – a seraph in their image – could truly be the monster being presented to them. Fans of every celebrity who has been accused of sexual assault and misconduct, since the Harvey Weinstein allegations opened the valve to victims speaking out against their alleged attackers, know this all too well. For friends, it is magnified even further.

Having condemned the alleged crimes of Weinstein and Kevin Spacey, with whom she was long close friends, the actor Dame Judi Dench has expressed concern that the work of the two men will now be forgotten.

“Are we going to negate 10 years at the Old Vic and everything that he did – how wonderful he’s been in all those films? Are we just not going to see all those films that Harvey produced?” the actor asked. “You cannot deny somebody a talent. You might as well never look at a Caravaggio painting. You might as well never have gone to see Noel Coward.”

Removing Spacey’s performance from All the Money in the World was a peculiar move. Rather than erasing the disgraced actor from the film’s blueprint, this decision achieved the polar opposite. The numerous allegations levied against Spacey were writ large on every awkwardly reshot frame. Adding insult to injury, Mark Wahlberg was paid $1.5m for the necessary reshoots and Michelle Williams just $1,000. The film flopped in the box office.

Mourning the treatment of alleged perpetrator’s creative work is to mourn the wrong person. For too long, creative men have exploited their artistic prowess to evade responsibility and the creative's get out of jail free card (sometimes literally) is exactly how these abuses were able to happen. Jimmy Savile and Rolf Harris used their positions as national treasures to sexually molest children; Michael Jackson manipulated the parents of his fans, narrowing in on their desire to bring joy to their children’s lives, in order to get close to his alleged victims.

Lena Dunham also publicly struggled to deal with accusations when they involved a friend and collaborator. The same day actor Aurora Perrineau accused Girls co-writer Murray Miller of rape, Dunham and her co-showrunner Jenni Konner issued a statement in defence of him, referring to “insider knowledge” that would discredit the allegations. Months later Dunham admitted no such information existed, saying that “blind faith” had led her to make the statement.

Accepting that our friends or our heroes might not be the squeaky-clean icons we once thought they were is part of the fallout of Me Too that we all have to deal with. Worrying about the work of these men, their creative legacy, denies their victims agency. What is a career acting pitch perfect Shakespeare versus the mental health fallout of having been assaulted as a child? What is bankrolling blockbuster movies versus the fear of having to choose between your career and being left to be sexually assaulted by the most powerful man in the industry?

It's just another way of shifting the spotlight from the real victims. The work of these men hasn’t been erased – far from it. Their words, their performances, their images, their fingerprints are all over our cultural history, impossible for their victims to escape.

Today marks 10 years since the death of Michael Jackson and yet people continue to celebrate his work globally. Film history will continue to celebrate The Usual Suspects, LA Confidential, Titanic and Pulp Fiction too.

The personal history of the artist provides vital context when we display or consume their art. Caravaggio’s paintings are violent and dark as the artist himself. Picasso, as the comedian Hannah Gadsby said in her Netflix stand-up show Nanette, should not be celebrated as a flawless genius. Weinstein's case is still ongoing; the gavel is yet to be put down. Our focus should be on the women who spoke out against him, not whether a project he produced will ever make it to general release.

Dench’s comments highlight exactly why victims are scared to speak up: they fear the reprisals of coming out against men in positions of power and influence. Men who are loved, by friends and family are often powerful too.

Tarnishing talent has never been the goal of Me Too and airbrushing history should not be the outcome. Accusing people of abuse doesn’t negate their creative talent, but the latter should not exonerate them from the former, as it has for too long.

Me Too is about speaking truth to power and giving voice to the formerly voiceless. “What kind of agony is that?” asked Dench about Spacey’s work being edited out. It’s exactly the question we should be asking about alleged victims, however difficult that might seem.