Some haunted house stories throw a few bumps in the night, a creaky stair, maybe an old lady whispering in the attic. The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer doesn’t mess with that polite nonsense—it straps you down with lace and pearls, sticks you in a corset too tight to breathe, and whispers, “Oh, by the way, your husband’s building you a wedding gift that doubles as a death trap.” This ABC TV movie, a prequel to Stephen King’s Rose Red, might not have the blood geysers of your average slasher, but it earns points by making you laugh, cringe, and wonder why anyone ever thought marrying into old-money oil families was a good idea. Spoiler: it isn’t.
Ellen’s Big Fat Gothic Nightmare
Our heroine is Ellen (Lisa Brenner), a wide-eyed, porcelain doll of a woman who learns the hard way that love doesn’t conquer all—sometimes it just buys you a cursed mansion. Her husband, John Rimbauer (Steven Brand), is the kind of guy who looks like he’d cheat on you with your maid and then sue you for emotional damages. He’s got money, he’s got power, and he’s got a moral compass that points straight to hell. His gift to Ellen? Rose Red, a sprawling Tudor-Gothic monstrosity that basically screams, “Get out!” even before the paint dries.
From day one, people are dropping like flies around this place—construction workers, foremen, probably the occasional unlucky census taker. If Ellen had any sense, she would have torched the blueprints, grabbed her diary, and hitched a ride to anywhere not actively cursed. But no, she moves in, squeezes out a couple of kids, and decides to stick around long enough to become Seattle’s answer to Miss Havisham with a ghost problem.
The House That Ate Everyone
Rose Red is less a house and more a gluttonous, sentient organism with an appetite for human lives and an overactive imagination when it comes to interior design. Rooms pop up overnight, staircases spiral into nowhere, and entire hallways appear like the house is playing Sims with itself. You’d think Ellen might take the hint when her daughter April vanishes into thin air one afternoon, but Ellen decides the best cure for grief is more renovations. Nothing says “coping” like building an east wing that exists solely to eat your friends.
The house doesn’t discriminate either. It snacks on maids, socialites, lovers, and even Ellen’s bestie Sukeena (Tsidii Le Loka), who deserves better than to be swallowed by a home with separation anxiety. By the end, Ellen herself pulls a disappearing act, becoming the final brick in Rose Red’s supernatural mortgage.
John Rimbauer: Seattle’s Original Gaslighter
Steven Brand plays John with the smarm of a man who’s never washed his own dishes. He’s charming in that “I’m going to ruin your life” kind of way. Ellen starts off smitten with the luxury, but it doesn’t take long for her diary to read like a laundry list of marital red flags. John’s got secrets, skeletons, and enough mistresses to field a baseball team. If Ellen were alive today, she’d have her own podcast called My Husband Built Me a Haunted Mansion and All I Got Was Trauma.
Lisa Brenner Holds It Together (Barely)
Brenner sells Ellen’s descent from fragile bride to haunted matriarch with just the right touch of wide-eyed dread. She doesn’t play Ellen as an idiot; she plays her as a woman trapped by circumstance, corsets, and the occasional spectral houseguest. Every diary entry drips with desperation and repressed fury, like she’s seconds away from throwing her inkwell at John’s smug face. It’s not Oscar bait, but it’s the kind of earnest performance that keeps you invested even when the CGI windows are wiggling like Jell-O.
Haunted House, But Make It Soap Opera
Unlike most horror films, The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer isn’t about body counts. It’s about atmosphere, melodrama, and the kind of overwrought tension you usually find in soap operas. Everyone’s got secrets. Everyone’s got motives. Everyone’s waiting for the house to eat them like an hors d’oeuvre. The film thrives on slow-burn dread, though sometimes it tips over into unintentional comedy. Watching Ellen write yet another diary entry about her cheating husband while a ghost fiddles with the curtains feels less like horror and more like a Victorian episode of Desperate Housewives.
Production Values: ABC’s Haunted Real Estate
As a made-for-TV movie, the budget shows, but director Craig R. Baxley squeezes just enough mood out of the dimly lit sets and thunderclaps. Rose Red looks like the kind of mansion you’d buy if you wanted to impress your enemies and scare off door-to-door salesmen. The CGI is quaint—okay, it’s bad—but it fits the gothic fairytale vibe. The costuming does most of the heavy lifting, though. Nothing says “haunted” like Ellen wandering around in a Victorian gown while muttering about her missing child.
Why It Works (In Spite of Itself)
Here’s the thing: The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer shouldn’t work. It’s hokey. It’s melodramatic. The scares are about as subtle as a jackhammer. But it works because it leans into its own insanity. The film doesn’t shy away from its gothic roots; it embraces them with both pale, trembling arms. It’s ridiculous, sure, but it’s also atmospheric in that rainy, Pacific Northwest way where you half expect a ghost to hand you a latte.
The dark humor comes naturally—Ellen’s diary reads like the early 1900s version of a Yelp review for haunted houses. “One star, husband cheats, daughter disappeared, house won’t stop building itself.” Yet through all the melodrama, you feel for her. She’s the original final girl who never got to leave the house because the house literally wouldn’t let her.
The Legacy: Ghosts, Soap, and Stephen King
As a prequel to Rose Red, the film does its job. It sets up the cursed history, fills in the lore, and gives you just enough melodramatic backstory to justify the later miniseries’ chaos. On its own, it’s a campy gothic romp with enough atmosphere to keep you watching. It’s the kind of movie you put on late at night when you want to laugh, shiver, and wonder how Ellen didn’t just torch the place and move to Florida.
Final Verdict
The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer is like a gothic romance novel that got drunk, married a horror script, and decided to raise a cursed mansion together. It’s melodramatic, campy, and occasionally laugh-out-loud ridiculous, but it’s also oddly compelling. Lisa Brenner anchors the madness, Steven Brand oozes smarm, and Rose Red itself steals the show as the world’s most homicidal fixer-upper.
Is it scary? Not really. Is it entertaining? Absolutely. And sometimes, that’s enough.
