In the days since the explosive allegations of sexual harassment and assault against Harvey Weinstein began to come out—first in the New York Times, then in Ronan Farrow’s article on this Web site, then in a hastening stream of accounts from women both famous and not, telling of predation, coercion, and rape—few have spoken openly in the Hollywood mogul’s defense. On the red carpet on Sunday, Weinstein’s longtime friend, the designer Donna Karan, questioned whether women were “asking for it” by “presenting all the sensuality and all the sexuality” (she apologized for her words a day later), but by and large the entertainment industry, which for decades has fostered the conditions that allowed Weinstein’s offenses to continue unobstructed, as if part of the natural order of things, was now publicly turning its back on him.

On Tuesday night, however, the actress Lindsay Lohan, who had worked with Weinstein on a couple of movies, posted two brief videos to her Instagram Stories that resolutely championed the producer. Dressed casually in a plaid button-down with her hair pulled back, seemingly filming herself in a bathroom, and speaking in an unplaceable, vaguely Continental accent, Lohan announced that she was “in Dubai, I’m home,” before adding that she feels “very bad for Harvey Weinstein right now, and I don’t think it’s right what’s going on.” “He’s never harmed me or done anything to me,” she said. “So I think everybody needs to stop.” A beaming halo-emoji sticker topped with the word “Harvey” hovered to the left of her face. (The videos were later deleted, and Lohan issued a statement to the Daily Mail, in which she called on the women accusing Weinstein to “report their experiences to the relevant authorities” rather than air them out in the media.)

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Lohan’s invocation of a “relevant authority” is oddly poignant. Growing up in Long Island as the oldest of four children, the daughter of estranged parents—a loose-cannon Wall Street trader father who did jail time for contempt of court related to an insider-trading investigation and a mom whose own show-business dreams were seemingly funnelled into her daughter’s career—Lohan began working at three as a model, before turning to acting. A sweet-faced, sprightly redhead, she possessed from the start an immense magnetism and promise, as well as a vulnerability that came across as deeply felt. As a child, she starred in several popular Disney movies, after which, as a teen, she inevitably pivoted into the role of sexy post-pubescent starlet. This transition was at first kind to her and then, later, increasingly cruel. In the mid-two-thousands, after the commercial and critical success of the smart teen comedy “Mean Girls,” Lohan was on the precipice of superstardom, and was followed everywhere by paparazzi, a key figure in propping up that decade’s celebrity-gossip-industrial complex; as the years went on, however, this interest turned pernicious, as she became more known for her troubled exploits than for her acting. There followed a couple of D.U.I. arrests, several rehab stints, eating-disorder rumors, oft-reported romantic and financial troubles, a consistently unstable family life—and then, in recent years, a long, itinerant stretch spent mostly in London, with hops to Russia, Greece, and now, apparently, Dubai.

Lohan’s has been a sluggishly downbeat narrative, peppered with occasional, desultory attempts at a comeback—sometimes through acting, sometimes through fashion design, sometimes through humanitarian work. What has kept me and, I suspect, others stubbornly rooting for her, though, isn’t just the recollection of her charm and vibrancy as a younger actress but also her tremulous unexpectedness: her refusal, whether by choice or by impulse, to adhere to a predictable arc. Memorable, for one, was the reality show, shepherded by Oprah Winfrey, in which she starred, in 2014, and that was supposed to get her back on track as a centered and successful woman, in the familiar Oprah vein. Lohan’s “Aha!” moment, however, failed to materialize; instead, the show documented a woman who continued to publicly struggle—who was even, on occasion, caught on tape as she refused to play along. (She later said that she had experienced a miscarriage during the show’s shooting.)

Lohan’s recent support of Weinstein is, of course, blinkered, and deeply conservative. Her response to the news was of a piece with a tactic often used to excuse predators and cast doubt on survivors (“Well, he was always good to me, so he can’t really have wronged others”); there was also something almost Trumpian in her refashioning of the bullying oppressor as the bullied victim (paradoxically using the language of social justice, when she asked people to “stand up” to show their support for Weinstein). This wasn’t the first time that Lohan has displayed a fondness for tyrannical, intimidating men and their questionable politics. Last year, she spoke highly of Vladimir Putin, praising him for “being persistent in his actions” on a Russian talk show; and in January, she convened with the Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan and his wife, Emine, to discuss the Syrian refugee crisis, posting a picture of the meeting on Instagram and writing of the strongman, “What a dream it is for Mr. President Erdogan and the First Lady to invite me to their home.” She also tagged Donald Trump in the post.

After Lohan put up her videos in support of Weinstein, the actress Rose McGowan, who reached a settlement with Weinstein in 1997, after he allegedly assaulted her, and who has emerged as one of the leading public voices calling for Weinstein’s accountability, tweeted, “Please go easy on Lindsay Lohan. Being a child actor turned sex symbol twists the brain in ways you can’t comprehend.” It was an important reminder that Lohan, an earner since toddlerhood, has been held up as an object to be desired, then derided, then pitied, then cast away, and that this trajectory might make some psychological sense of her yearning for the seemingly solid hand of a controlling despot, for mafioso-style protection. But Lohan’s attitude has broader resonances. Her support of Weinstein is, thankfully, an aberration in the current landscape, but until a mere few days ago, and for decades now, Weinstein was an unassailable force. He was Putin; he was Erdoğan; he was Sylvia Plath’s vampiric daddy who could be resisted only furtively, if at all. Lohan’s world and Hollywood were one and the same, and both loved a Fascist, or at least hated him only secretly. Now, it seems, many are finally through. We can only hope the same will one day go for Lohan.