When "Tutankhamun and the Golden Age of the Pharaohs" comes to Dallas in October, its Texas expectations will be as large as the legacy of the boy king himself.

Bonnie Pitman, the new director of the Dallas Museum of Art, boldly predicts that more than 1 million visitors will make their way to the Arts District to catch a glimpse of the 130 rare Egyptian artifacts.

But is it an art exhibit or a rock show? And who stands to benefit monetarily, the DMA or the organizers?

Ms. Pitman is anything but bullish about the show's financial prospects.

"Our goal," she says, "is to break even. I don't see this as a huge moneymaker."

Even so, Ms. Pitman considers the objects so extraordinary that she and other civic leaders thought the museum owed its constituency the pleasure of seeing them. The curious can flock from Dallas, Austin, Houston and points beyond to see a collection so ancient that some pieces may predate even Moses. She is, however, mindful of controversy.

Since its debut in Los Angeles in 2005, the exhibition has weathered barbs from critics and museum professionals. The more skeptical see it as purely commercial and not an enterprise that ought to be showcased in venues such as the DMA, which prides itself on a scholarly, encyclopedic collection. If anything, it has stirred a purist-vs.-populist debate that rages anywhere the boy king travels.

"I'm not a snob when it comes to exhibitions," says Edmund "Ted" Pillsbury, director emeritus of the Kimbell Art Museum in Fort Worth, where he was director from 1980 to 1998.

"If the material is of quality and hasn't been made available to people in this area, I think it's wonderful to have it. But there was almost from the start questions about this exhibition. Because it was organized as a commercial venture rather than an educational venture."

Tyler Green, the Washington-based editor of Modern Art Notes, which The Wall Street Journal calls "the most influential of all visual arts blogs," says the Tut exhibition "is a pure pay-per-view spectacle and not a scholarly exhibition. If somebody wants to put together a pay-per-view show, great, go do it. But put it in an exhibition hall, such as the O2."

The O2 is a sprawling, 23,000-seat sports arena and exhibition enclave in London, where the Tut exhibit wraps up a record-breaking nine-month run next month. Mark Lach, its much-heralded designer, discussed the exhibition in March while sitting at a Starbucks at the entrance to the O2, where the Eagles, Prince, Celine Dion – and now Tut – have lured millions through the turnstiles.

The current show – an earlier version toured the U.S. in the 1970s – drew 1.3 million visitors to the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia. There, says Mr. Lach, it became "the most attended show in the world." By the time it leaves London, he says, "It will probably have done 1.5 million. It just continues to build."

The DMA is the fifth American venue to host the show, which has already drawn more than 5 million visitors worldwide.

Even more astonishing figures illustrate why the DMA is willing to countenance the complaints. At the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, the only other art museum to welcome the show, half of the visitors had never been to the museum, Mr. Lach says.

"But even more amazing," he says, "is the fact that 20 percent said they had never been to a museum of any kind."

Mr. Green says there's no evidence to support the idea that museums reap long-term benefits from first-time customers. Dr. Pillsbury disagrees, citing audience development as a worthy motive. "The more people who come to see the artworks," he says, "the better the museum is in fulfilling its mission."

And the overwhelming challenge for any museum, he says, "is getting people over the threshold."

As the Kimbell director, he was assailed by a local art critic, he says, "because the Forbes family let me borrow its complete collection of Fabergé eggs." The critic wrote that he had "sold out by showing a corporate collection. I said, 'What the blazes? These are so fabulous, why shouldn't the Kimbell share this great resource?' "

Ms. Pitman and others consider the show an investment – not only in the future of the DMA but also in the city's $338 million Center for the Performing Arts under construction in the Arts District. It is precisely such new visitors that cultural institutions must cultivate for the future, she says.

But Mr. Green and others say the real beneficiary of those new visitors is Arts and Exhibitions International, which organized the show along with AEG Exhibitions, National Geographic and the Egyptian Supreme Council of Antiquities.

AEI is a subsidiary of AEG, or Anschutz Entertainment Group, whose patriarch is a reclusive Colorado billionaire who never gives interviews. His name is Philip Anschutz, and his vast holdings include the Staples Center in Los Angeles, numerous pro sports franchises and Nokia Theatre at Grand Prairie.

"Museums are selling their soul on this," says Mr. Green, who points to a comment made to USA Today by Tim Leiweke, the head of AEG: "I'm not sure there's so much difference between Tutankhamun and Celine Dion."

Mr. Green also questions the finances. "If the people in Dallas are lucky enough to break even, well, think about that: If tickets average, say, $22 each, and you expect 1 million visitors, that comes to $22 million. And the museum's hope is to break even?"

Ms. Pitman says the DMA's costs include hiring an additional 150 staff members, including security and guest services, to work the show, which will operate from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. seven days a week from October to May. She declined to discuss specific financial details.

Dr. Pillsbury likens the Tut exhibition to "Great French Paintings From the Barnes Foundation" at the Kimbell in 1994. The Kimbell donated $3 million to the foundation and paid $2.5 million for its own expenses.

"But we made money," he says, noting another key difference: The Kimbell's fees went to a nonprofit institution and not a for-profit enterprise.

Because of the Anschutz connection, Mr. Green says, the DMA's decision to welcome the show has left members of the art world perplexed. "It's not that we're disappointed," he says. "Rather, we're surprised. Why did they need to do that?"

Mr. Green calls the DMA's recent J.M.W. Turner retrospective "jaw-dropping and knee-knocking. It was really good." He calls the Tut show "ethically dubious and not reflective of our public trust in museums."

Ms. Pitman disagrees, branding this show even better than its predecessor. The landmark "Treasures of Tutankhamun" drew 8 million visitors to seven U.S. cities from 1976 to 1979 and inspired a whimsical song by Steve Martin on Saturday Night Live that gave Tut a permanent niche in pop culture, not to mention YouTube.

The current show carries more objects – 50 alone from the tomb of the king who reigned 3,300 years ago from age 9 to his mysterious death at 19 – and at least five will be seen in Dallas for the first time. Ms. Pitman and city leaders expect a bucket-load of ancillary benefits, including what the Dallas Convention and Visitors Bureau estimates could be an economic impact of more than $150 million.

Ms. Pitman is, however, sensitive to the show's more theatrical aspects. At the O2, mood music shadows the narrative of the boy king and three generations of forebears as visitors wander from room to room. Ms. Pitman has vetoed the use of such sound effects in Dallas.

"It's not in our aesthetic to do something like that," she says.

Mr. Lach admits using Hollywood touches in telling the Tut story. He has a broader canvas at the O2 – 35,000 square feet – whereas the DMA will limit him to 20,000.

As for the paying millions who have seen the show, some are unhappy that it doesn't contain the famous Tut "death mask" that became the chilling end to the 1970s show. The Egyptian government has deemed the mask too fragile to travel. Others say it was damaged during the previous tour and will never again be allowed out of Cairo.

For older guests who see the show in London – and who saw it in the '70s – this one, they say, is better. They praise its focus on Tut's family and early Egyptian religion, especially how his ideas clashed with his father's monotheism, and its easy-to-navigate layout. They don't even mind the grassy knoll-like presentation that examines possible conspiracies behind his death.

"Well, yes, it doesn't have the gold mask, but it's so much better arranged," says Dr. Tom Farley, 68, a retired general practitioner who lives 220 miles from London. "I queued for three hours in the 1970s. Here, I had to wait 10 seconds, and the crowds were bigger. They could not have organized it any better. It's been a pleasure."

Ms. Pitman hopes the 1 million who come to her art museum will leave with the same feeling.