How do you make a movie in 36 hours? Start. Now.

It's about 6:20 p.m. Friday, Aug. 29, when the Nissan SUV pulls out of a small apartment parking lot in Edinburg, four members of Middle Finger Productions in tow, and begins its trek to Harlingen.

The 40-minute drive would be an ideal time to nap or at least relax, but Ali Naqvi can't keep his excitement at bay. In just a few short hours, the 21-year-old will surrender his ingenuous and fervent demeanor for the persona of a director. As a competitor in the CineSol Film Festival's 36-hour Film Race, he'll need total focus to create a film start to finish in day and a half. Right now, though, it's all eagerness.

"I just want to know," he said, clenching his fists.

Just before the contest's start, a location, prop, character and line of dialogue will be chosen at random and must be included in the film. But all those are details, Naqvi ­- like most ­- is waiting for the big fish: genre.

One thing that never changes about this contest is the intensity. In its three years of existence, the race has had many teams who pay the $125 to participate but don't finish. But with most of the Valley's growing network of filmmakers at the race's start location, New York Deli in Harlingen, the chances of many of this year's 23 teams succumbing to the pressures of writing, filming and editing a film in a day and a half is dwindling.

Silence falls upon the dim room.

Minutes till 9 p.m., the secret requirements are plucked from a jar.

Location: Tattoo parlor.

Prop: A pig.

Character: A filmmaker.

Dialogue: "Say hello to my little friend."

And, finally, ...

Genre: ... Wild card.

The organizers have changed the game. Each team must make their choice before leaving: action, drama or comedy.

Everyone scrambles to write their selections on the small notecards.

Go.

They dash out of the building. They're in it for the long haul.

MIDDLE FINGER PRODUCTIONS (Drama)

9:06 p.m.

The light from Naqvi's Apple computer pierces the truck's darkness. The team has started brainstorming. "Drug addict dealer!" someone shouts. "A secret dealer."

Scenes are developing, but no overlying plot has germinated quite yet.

• 10:20 p.m.

Inside the Edinburg apartment shared by team members Dennis Rivas, 22 of Los Ebanos, and Marcy Garza, 19 of Sullivan City, writing is underway, with Brisa Munoz taking lead.

Munoz has driven from Waco, where the 19-year-old attends Baylor University, to be here for the contest.

Even a fender bender on the way here did not curtail her plans to help her friends out.

The living room, where about 10 of the group's friends have camped out, is abuzz with the sounds of Rock Band. Most of them, who will be actors in the film, won't be needed for hours. For now, movie-making activity, like the writing, has been confined to Rivas' room. All of them don't have to be here; they just are.

• 10:34 p.m.

Naqvi has left to approve the crack den.

It's actually 20-year-old Mario Leal's apartment, which was destroyed a few minutes ago by Leal for the movie.

The pictures Leal snapped for approval show a mattress lying in the middle of the floor, objects once on tables - or so they say - have been tossed to the ground and a string of Christmas lights that only illuminate half-way have been plugged in.

• 11:08 p.m.

The first four pages of a tale of two drug addicts are about to be printed. The addicts will meet by chance and discover they can help each other recover - at least, that seems to be the most popular idea at the moment.

Leal and Mission native Rick Mireles, 21, joined in half way and helped give the plot some flesh. Though further than it was on the way back from Harlingen, the script isn't heading in the direction some had thought it might go.

"In the car, I had a totally different idea," Rivas said after the other members have exited the room. "This is going to be very fast, and I had just imagined it a slow and more dramatic. This is going to be about drugs, and I was thinking suicide."

But as driver, Rivas said it was hard to keep up with plot development in the car. He reaches for the printer software CD, preparing to install. It will still turn out good, he says with a smile.

• 1 a.m.

Problem. "Titanic" had a giant sinking ship. "Night of the Living Dead" had brain munchers. And right now, this as-yet-untitled film could use a big boat with a hole or a few dozen zombies.

But what it really needs is a conflict.

John Walker, a 24-year-old team member, made that observation at the night's second read-through. It was as if someone had just told the room that all the world's puppies had died. Their faces said it all: They agreed.

"It doesn't make sense. It's like nasty sex, like drunk sex, it just goes (flat), like ‘Oh, here we go again,' " Walker said.

How will they make this work?

Minutes later, all efforts to revive the plot are proving futile. They could start from scratch, but the prospect of a new idea has put on damper on the team's spirit. They all are showing the first signs of fatigue. Bottom line: They have to make a decision soon.

"This is Goosebumps. Turn to page 11 or page 53," Walker quips.

• 1:32 a.m.

How many trapped team members does it take to open a broken front door? No joke.

When the jammed door finally opens, the group has opened a new story. Saving the other plot was a lost cause, but they are now well behind Naqvi's goal of having the script complete by now, which he had earlier set at midnight.

• 2:09 a.m.

Naqvi and Rivas have barricaded themselves inside Garza's room to write the script. After hours of collective thinking, it's time to take charge.

Naqvi said they plan on combining ideas into something cohesive. That's not possible in a room full of people.

Here's what they have so far:

Conflict: Self.

Plot: A sleep-deprived man contemplates suicide, while reliving experiences.

Of course, there's a twist.

• 3:02 a.m.

The living room is busy watching the home shopping network, which is hawking objects of the sexual kind. But in a few minutes everyone will get a chance to see the new script.

It's not fleshed out yet. Thought-provoking dialogue and specifics will be added by other teammates.

It's been a long night, but it gets better after this, Naqvi said.

"This was the hard part," he said. "The rest we're prepared for."

GREENLEAF FILMING SOCIETY (Drama)

• 7:37 a.m.

Sweat-soaked locks frame 23-year-old Roberto Collado's face as he runs with gun in hand down an alley.

"OK, go back and do that one more time," director Fernando Martinez said.

The humid morning air fogs the lenses outside Stephanie Hawks' house in Pharr. Martinez, 24 from McAllen, and his crew have been filming since 7 a.m. at The University of Texas-Pan American professor's home.

They are well organized and moving through the outside scenes very quickly. Martinez is focused; he knows what he needs, from what angle he needs it and when he has the shot. He does not intend to waste the morning.

• 9:16 a.m.

Martinez assisted in the production of "Sen5es," which won last year's film race. But this year, he has branched off.

Thus far, he has kept his solo project as enigmatic as possible. He won't say much about the plot. The only clues lie within the objects that have been the foci of the camera's attention: a pill bottle, a suicide letter, a sweaty man, a better-dressed man and a fake gun.

• 9:37 a.m

Martinez is a softy.

"If you're really that curious ...," he says, handing over the script.

The pieces finally make sense.

The script is technically well thought-out. They have confined shooting to about three locations; it's a smart move considering their time restrictions. Most scenes, including the movie's main ones, will take place in Hawks' home, which is co-ruled by Dolly and S. Noodle - two cats, not creatively named children.

Having three locations will give them an edge production wise.

• 10:41 a.m.

Shortly after a break for Stripes tacos, Garfield syndrome has struck the team. Only one all-nighter is behind them but satisfying the craving for breakfast has given way to a new desire: sweet, sweet sleep.

• 11:12 a.m.

The break did not last long, and fighting sleep is now the least of their problems. They have a much bigger battle to face: allergens.

Collado, one of the film's leads, had an inkling he was allergic to cats, but "didn't know it was this bad."

Between takes, makeup artist Dulce Navar, 20, of Reynosa, takes the puffy-eyed Collado out for air. It is pure luck that his wheezy breathing fits the character he plays - a man on the run from the law.

His throat is feeling tight and he's feeling itchy. Their movie rests in the hands of a $5 box of Benadryl.

Another scene has come to an end.

"Go outside," Navar instructs Collado. "And leave the gun."

• 12:18 p.m.

The room is silent as John Flores, who plays another main character, performs in an intense scene.

"I've never tasted my own blood before," his character said to his captor. An awkward pause follows. "I love you."

The room erupts in laugher and Flores and Collado, with whom he was sharing the scene, embrace. Cut.

During a 36-hour contest it's easy to focus on the production challenges, but until you're sitting at a kitchen table watching each scene unfold, you don't realize the immense pressure felt elsewhere, especially on actors.

Aside from learning lines, they must meet, develop and bring to life a character in less than 36 hours. Not easy.

On the production side, the director is also working with a crew that is comprised of some novice members.

"Hold the boom mic toward the speaker," Martinez says to the sound operator.

"Oh, I thought we were practicing."

"Oh. Uhmm ...OK we have to do that again I guess," Martinez sighs.

• 1:06 p.m.

The problem with exposition? Well, it's exposition.

It's tedious, tiring for both actors and crew. When filming exposition, one slip up and it's back to the beginning.

Other scenes - like short closeups of action or reactions - are quickly executed and then they move on.

But more bothersome than waiting is that these scenes act as a break, and the last thing you want in the middle of a sleep-deprived day is for adrenaline to stop flowing; that allows fatigue to set in.

They still have about four script pages and two location changes to go; then they must edit. And it all has to happen in less than 20 hours. Signs say they will be quite mobile soon.

TRUE VALLEY FILMS (Drama)

• 4:30 p.m.

Production is at a standstill on the rural farm land in San Juan where director Charlie Brenner has taken his cast and crew. The boom mic has run out of batteries.

As crew members race off to find some in the nearby house, Brenner takes a minute to gather himself. It's been a long day, and working in the outdoors has drained them.

Fifteen minutes later, the batteries are greeted with a groan.

The mic was plugged in wrong. But now's not the time to cast blame.

• 4:58 p.m.

Brenner's leadership style is clear. He knows he must keep actors in check.

The time for play has passed and as the sun shows the first signs of fading, Brenner is watching every minute.

One hungry actor holds a sandwich - a prop - and pleads with Brenner.

"Can I please bite my sandwich?"

Brenner compromises.

"We need to get rolling. You can bite your sandwich if we get rolling."

Despite Brenner's efforts to rally his somewhat roguish cast, the disruptions continue.

This time, Jesse Castellanos wants to redo a scene.

"We're running out of time, man," Brenner says.

"OK, but I'm not going to like it."

The director accepts that. Behind the camera, it's business.

Brenner has had some time to find his place in an industry that is in the middle of building a strong local base, with writing and directing credits on a few movies, including "Mason-Dixon," which will be shown during the Cinesol Film Festival.

• 5:19 p.m.

Technical Snag No. 2 of the evening has happened just as clouds and fading light mix in the sky. The camera has run out of battery.

Two crew members run to find an adapter. Brenner takes a minute to sit in the bed of a black pickup.

"I've been standing for 36 hours," he said, removing a sweat-soaked backward hat from his head.

Today has not been his day. Earlier, one of their lead actresses simply "decided not to call us," he said.

Luck came in the form of his friend, Sara Block, who stepped in to fill the role.

"Thankfully, we found a wonderful actress," he said.

• 5:36 p.m.

Buzz is usually good news for filmmakers - but not when it's coming from the audio feedback.

This third technical spit in the face frays Brenner.

The adapter - which uses the power from a truck to power the camera - appears to surge the audio. He must charge the camera for 15 minutes and film what he can.

He's running out of battery and light. He takes the risk of filming handheld.

• 6:54 p.m.

This is Zack Hazlett's shining, err, bloody moment in the sun. It's almost time for special effects, and expectations are high for the shooting scene.

He's constructed two squibs - movie talk for the bloody mess that ends up on actor's shirts after they are "shot." Who they will be used on will remain a secret (no one likes a spoiler), but the pressure is on.

There is no costume department with duplicates of clothes, no cleanup crew and definitely no one that can keep the sun up.

This is one shot. One scene. One chance to get it right and not just any scene. The closing scene. THE scene.

The theory is simple enough: Take one condom, fill it with blood, add a string and voilà. OK, there's a lot more to it. But the concept is similar. Even taping the squibs to actors is pressure-filled. One slip up, one tear and you have a bloody actor, no clothes and no scene.

About a half hour of prep later, it's time.

The first actor is up.

"I'll squib you like you've never been squibed before," Hazlett said.

• 8:03 p.m.

It's post-fight scene. They got it.

Whew.

Hazlett remains modest about his success.

"It's easier to do blood than old age or tattoos," he said, "because film is refined. With theater you have distance. Distance is your friend. Here you don't have distance, especially in HD."

After two quick scenes, editing is up next. Brenner's not concerned.

"I used to work for Channel 4," he said. "I'm used to editing news quickly."

Despite the crunch ahead of them, Hazlett is already thinking about the end of the contest, and he's not looking forward to it.

"Like a lot of us were saying last night when it's over, you're ready to do it again.

MAD COW MEDIA (action/comedy)

• 11:02 p.m.

They're not like every other group. Not in the least.

In a half-constructed audio studio in McAllen, six men skim the last reserves of an 18 pack of Budweiser and light up cigarettes for good form.

It looks more like a guy's night instead of the last hours of a film contest. And oddly enough, that's exactly how they intended it.

Carlos Campos' friend, Trey Garza, had called him about the contest. It look little convincing. They were just "going to try" it.

Much like these final hours, their early approach was a bit ... unconventional.

"We did our normal routine and slept normal," Campos, a McAllen resident, said. "We started at like 9 this morning."

They had an idea, but not a script. Just notes written on the back of stationery from Sahadi's restaurant in McAllen.

"We wanted to have fun with no stress. And if it was not (fun), I didn't want to do it," Garza said. "I'm not bragging that we were lackadaisical about it, but it is what it is."

And what exactly is it? Filmmakers can't think of an idea for a movie during a 36-hour film race, so they steal footage from other teams. Relatable.

• 12:56 a.m.

Campos sits in front of Final Cut Pro, piecing together an array of sometimes-funny-sometimes-weird-sometimes-vulgar-always-clever footage that he shot.

His friends will say, but he'll be the last to confirm, that he was a driving force of the project. He has experience in the field, but won't speak in detail about it.

They're missing one scene and plan on filming it outside.

Campos meets a little resistance to heading out into the humid bug bite zone.

"We can't just leave it out?" Garza asks.

Campos won't give in. The movie will make no sense without it, he says.

About 30 mosquito bites - or about 20 minutes - after set up, filming is complete.

They head back inside, someone has brought more beer.

• 1:20 a.m.

There's deliberation - it's not fit to print.

It has to deal with the use of a scene and a piece of dialogue. Some have vulgarity concerns. They fear the film might not get shown at all if it is included.

The person in the scene has a line about a pinky and butter. Too much has been said.

• 2:13 a.m.

They're considering cutting music. Campos is a self-confessed non-editor. Nonetheless, he sits at the computer splicing scenes.

He's not sure where to find bars and tone - filmese for the rainbow screen before a film and a requirement for turning the film in.

Garza paces the room in his socks, thinking of solutions.

They're in a spot, but will figure something out. The entire contest - or at least 20 hours of it - were all about education.

"Filming action is not good in boots," Garza said. "It's a learning experience."

If nothing else, the experience has taught this band of men a little something about themselves: the quickest way to devalidate claims of apathy is to sit in a room editing a movie in the middle of the night.

• 7 a.m.

Naqvi, is wearing the same clothes that he wore 36 hours before. He hasn't slept in 45 hours, but this is it. It's the ride to Harlingen, where he will turn in the movie, the work, the last 36 plus hours of his life.

He sits in the back seat of Leal's car, holding a private screening of the movie, "Wide Asleep."

"I'm honestly expecting people to say ‘What the (expletive) was that?' " he said with a small laugh. "But we did it and we did it in 36 hours."

In the end, 19 films were turned in, according to Henry Serrato, CineSol program director. Only 13 of those will be eligible to win the contest. Six of the films turned in came after the 9 a.m. deadline, including Brenner's team; they will be eligible to win audience favorite. Middle Finger and Greenleaf turned in movies before deadline, Serrato said.

Click here to see who won.