BOOK REVIEW / MEMOIRS : A Book for Film Lovers by a Film Lover : MAKING MOVIES, <i> by Sidney Lumet</i> (Knopf; $23, 218 pages)

The Hollywood memoir is too often the debased offspring of ego and commerce, not so much a book as a product, the literary equivalent of, say, “The Specialist,” or any other contemporary drama whose most memorable feature is the nudity of one (or both) of its stars.

But filmmaker Sidney Lumet has done something remarkable: written a memoir of his life in film that is exactly that, the story of his experiences as a filmmaker. It is as dignified as the movies he’s made; it fairly leaks integrity. And yet it is deeply felt and very moving. The movies Lumet makes demand respect and attention, as does this book--and it satisfies in a way that a more superficial story cannot.

“Making Movies” may not sell like somebody’s tell-all, but it is a far better book. Lumet has elevated restraint to an art form. Anyone who truly loves movies ought to read what he has to say about them.

Lumet loves movies--adores them, in a way that has nothing to do with $12-million salaries or getting your mug, or more, on the cover of Vanity Fair. His films have earned more than 50 Academy Award nominations, and include among them “Twelve Angry Men,” “Long Day’s Journey Into Night,” “The Pawnbroker,” “Serpico” and “Dog Day Afternoon.” They also include such resounding duds as “Just Tell Me What You Want,” but, hey, give me a quirky failure over a brain-dead box office smash any time.

What Lumet wants to do in this book is explain the nature of his passion--to describe to the reader, in delightfully engrossing detail, just exactly how he does that voodoo that he does so well. He wants us to know that he has a bagel and coffee and looks at the crossword puzzle before he goes to the set. He wants us to know that he lays out his clothes like a firefighter when he’s shooting, and leads a regimented life so that he can muster all the necessary energy for work.

And he wants us to know all the elements that combine to make a film, and what his relationship is to each one. He is gentlemanly in his explanations. When he speaks of actors he admires, such as Paul Newman, Al Pacino, Faye Dunaway and Katharine Hepburn, he has remarkable recall. When he tussles with someone--the too-compliant screenwriter who incorporated all of an actor’s misguided requests into a bloated rewrite on “‘The Verdict,” or the actress who was unable to convey tenderness--he politely refuses to mention their names.

Not that it matters, except for readers used to Hollywood gossip. Lumet makes his point--about the unique collaborative exercise of filmmaking, and the role everyone plays, from actor to composer to cinematographer to caterer. Knowing who the bad guys were would actually be a distraction, since the point isn’t personality. The point, as Lumet so clearly conveys it, is process.

What he has to say on that subject is fascinating, if you regard movies as something more than a two-hour diversion. In fact, it may be impossible to read this book without dashing over to the local video store to rent some of Lumet’s films, just to see the scenes he talks about: the claustrophobia of the jury room in “Twelve Angry Men,” the way the characters’ faces change in “Long Day’s Journey Into Night,” the phone calls Al Pacino’s character makes to his male lover and then his wife in “Dog Day Afternoon.”

The remarkable thing is that Lumet can talk about lights and lenses without ever losing the civilian reader, probably because of his great affection for the form. His insights into the actors he has worked with make the reader wonder about all those personality profiles that manage to fill up magazines without ever touching on the real stuff.