By now you may have heard about how Francis Ford Coppola spent, some say foolishly, over $100 million of his own money to produce “Megalopolis,” his fable of a future utopia, four decades in the making, which finally landed in theaters this week.

The film is not expected to recoup his investment, at least not during its theatrical run, and possibly not ever.

You might think that’s left Mr. Coppola worried, but I have spent a great deal of time talking to him about movies, human history and, quite frankly, how to make the world a better place, and I can assure you he’s not. That’s because he didn’t make “Megalopolis” to make money — any more than he made “Apocalypse Now” to make money, or “The Conversation,” or “One From the Heart,” or “Rumble Fish.” Mr. Coppola is foremost an artist. Even at the beginning of his career, before he had a dollar of his own to spend, his view was simple: He couldn’t afford not to spend his money on film.

This is a concept that we, audiences in America — misguided by an entertainment press that’s obsessed with box office, certain long-held misconceptions about the venality of Hollywood and the rise and (perhaps even gleefully anticipated) fall of great figures — too often struggle to understand. You may not remember the press coverage that led up to the release of “Apocalypse Now” in 1979, which was blithely dubbed “Coppola’s Folly” with a good amount of schadenfreude. In response, Coppola rightly noted that no one chastised Hollywood for spending millions (and millions) on a movie like “Superman II.” Mr. Coppola was characterized at the time as an ego run amok, a madman in the jungle. But “Apocalypse Now” has since turned a fantastic profit, and even if it hadn’t, it would still be “Apocalypse Now,” a film that’s widely considered a masterpiece. “Metropolis,” the 1927 film that’s an obvious influence on “Megalopolis,” was extraordinarily expensive to make, re-edited by its American distributor after its initial release and greeted with many mocking reviews. Yet almost a century later, it endures as a landmark of cinema.

Viewed this way, Mr. Coppola stands as one of the most courageous figures in American film. He is willing to risk not only his own fortune but also his artistic comfort and the laurels on which he could easily rest forever, all for the sake of creating something — this is a word you don’t hear a lot of in the business of American film — different.

Good, bad? That’s up to you to decide. But different? That’s up to him.

Every generation complains that Hollywood is dying or dead. Of course, every generation is more correct than the last. The current prognosis seems especially grim: Movie theaters are in free fall; adults are left to parse the horror films that dominate independent film for offerings of value; and all of this is competing with the vast wasteland of streaming content. This is all the more reason to celebrate someone like Mr. Coppola, as much for what he has created as for what he represents. Under the banner of his upstart, the artist-run studio American Zoetrope, he has always stood for vision: political, technological, artistic, industrial. He’s not just made the films of his dreams, he’s also made them his way — and as a producer, facilitated this for others — with a premium on experimentation and collaboration. Yes, this commitment has bankrupted him in the past. But it has not stopped him.

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