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As a result, many movies are unable to find a balance between the artistic and the commercial. One could make this argument over the recent remake of All the King’s Men: a glorious failure that falls victim to the tug-of-war between cash and quality.

All the King’s Men is the tale of a Huey Long-esque politician named Willie Stark who emerges from the office of parish treasurer to governor of Louisiana by campaigning against corruption. Predictably, the governor (played by Sean Penn) eventually becomes part of the corruption that he strives to overcome.

The movie is based on both a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel and an Academy Award-winning film, its cast includes a whopping five Oscar nominees, and its director wrote Schindler’s List.

From the outset, the film seems as if it will settle into the prestigious, artistic fare: ignoring money and hoping that it will clean up during awards season and make a killing in DVD sales. The formula doesn’t quite mix, however, as money causes more problems then it solves. The film decides to pander to a general audience by becoming formulaic and dull.

Its central character, played by Sean Penn, is indistinguishable from every other grass roots, bombastic, change-the-system politician we see in political dramas and protest rallies. Penn is, of course, a fine actor, but his tendency to slide into the larger-than-life overacting that he’s demonstrated in the past (see I Am Sam for a more obvious example) is glaring. He spends the entire movie spouting altruisms and metaphors, and becomes more of a caricature than an actual character.

All the King’s Men, considering its pedigree, is not a complete failure, and in parts is quite wonderful. Kate Winslet and Jude Law intertwine in a delicate and pleasing love story. Both stars are so beautiful it’s impossible not to swoon as they gaze into each other’s eyes amidst Pawel Edelman’s blue-gray cinematography.

Bit players Mark Ruffalo and Patricia Clarkson are much more complex than their storylines would have one believe, creating secondary characters so rich you almost wish the movie centered on them. Even Penn, when he’s not spewing political wordplay on the stump, has moments that make one remember why he’s called the next Marlon Brando.

Writer Steven Zaillian, who worked on perhaps the best example of balancing profit with art (example: the raw and powerful Schindler’s List), can’t seem to make up his mind whether this should be a simple parable or a realistic political saga.

The fight between dollar and art is a trend that has never subsided. In fact, with sudsy but celebrated biopics like A Beautiful Mind and Ray, it has increased exponentially.

This trend, however, distracts from the greatness of what film can accomplish. Cinema can reach out to audiences, prominently depicting the good and the bad; or, as in the case of All the King’s Men, it can cop out and make a standard, cowardly, two-dimensional portrait where the greatness seeps through by accident. Either way, artists need to make up their mindčis film for love or money?