Counting the days, that's what Luke Wilson is doing. We picture it like this: Wilson, all scruffy cute, arms behind his head in repose on greenest grass, gazing dreamily at a shiny blue sky. His eyes twinkle; a narcotized grin cuts across stubbly cheeks. And he counts, like sheep, the days until "The Wendell Baker Story," the movie he wrote, directed and stars in, has its world premiere at the Paramount Theatre. He imagines all 1,200 seats filled. There he is, sitting next to brothers Owen (the famous brother) and Andrew (the not-so-famous brother), his dog (whose name is Brother) and mother Laura. Luke beams, feet tapping nervously. The lights go down ...

"I can't wait, man. I woke up today and was like, 'OK, tomorrow is Thursday, then it's Friday and it will be 14 days from that day,' " Wilson says, his poky Texas drawl spiking up. "So I'm starting to get into this 'Rain Man' thing where I do numbers in my head. Eventually I'll get down to just hours. 'OK, 48 hours from right now I'll be sitting in the theater ...' "

Imagine the state of excitement Wilson is in as you read this. His screening, kicking off the South by Southwest Film Festival, takes place at 9 p.m. Friday. That's, like, tomorrow. Or today. Or now. Even we're getting butterflies.

Luke and Owen Wilson have never been inside the Paramount, mildly odd for Dallas natives who spend so much time in Austin, either making movies like "The Wendell Baker Story," which was shot here and in Wimberley last fall, or tearing up Club DeVille, inspiring jaw-slacking stories of mischief that have become lurid local lore. (We bring up the brothers' DeVille peccadillos and Luke goes: "Ah, geez." Andrew goes: "I know nothing." He laughs. "Ask Owen." And Owen goes: "Ha!")

There are the Marx brothers, Coen brothers, Wayans brothers, Hughes brothers, Wachowski brothers, and now the Wilson brothers. The Wilsons have been here for some time — the trio worked together on Wes Anderson's "Bottle Rocket," "Rushmore" and "The Royal Tenenbaums" — but "Wendell Baker" marks the first time a Wilson has directed another Wilson. In a partnership Luke says will continue, he and Andrew directed the character-study comedy from Luke's long-gestating screenplay.

Luke, 33, plays the young man of the title and Owen, 36, plays the sleazy head nurse at a retirement home, whose residents include Harry Dean Stanton, Seymour Cassel, Billy Joe Shaver and Kris Kristofferson. Eva Mendes plays Luke's girlfriend and Will Ferrell makes a cameo.

"All these people came aboard because of the script," says Andrew, who calls the writing "incredible." (He, Luke and Owen are speaking from Owen's Santa Monica, Calif., home.) Kristofferson reportedly called it the best script he's read in 10 years.

Owen, of course, co-wrote with Anderson "Bottle Rocket," "Rushmore" and "Tenenbaums," but this is Luke's first script, something he's been toiling on in downtime spurts over the course of four years. He first entertained the idea for the tale of a scampish, Candide-like optimist on his days off from shooting 2000's "My Dog Skip" in Mississippi. He would put the developing script down for a month at a time, writing between making movies.

"When I had time on my hands I'd go get coffee or a beer and work on it," Luke says. "A couple hours would pass and I'd entertain myself. The really hard part came when I had to edit it down. I write in longhand and I had a rude awakening when I took it to this woman to type it. It was like two bucks a page and I had a 255-page draft. Not only did I know it had to be about 110 pages, but I also got a bill for like $600."

At that point, he put the screenplay aside for a year with the hope that "maybe I'll be in some movies that do well," facilitating the sale of the script to a studio.

"I have to say it's one of the few times in my life when I had a game plan that actually worked out," says Luke.

Luke calls the Wendell Baker character a "dreamer and schemer," an upbeat fellow "different from myself."

"If I get some bad news, it can throw me off or make me feel bad," says Luke. "But Wendell is a guy who's had dozens of businesses and ideas that have failed, but he keeps looking forward."

Busted making counterfeit IDs for illegal immigrants, Wendell goes to the slammer, where he maintains a beaming attitude. Once out, he takes a job at a retirement home, befriending the shriveled residents, who advise Wendell how to get back his estranged girlfriend and reclaim his life. Wendell also has a dog, played by Luke's own dog, Brother.

Luke took the script for "The Wendell Baker Story" to producer Mark Johnson, who produced the Austin-made movies "The Alamo" and "Home Fries," which starred Luke and Drew Barrymore (and tanked). Johnson gave him notes and Luke polished the script further. Then they shopped it.

"I never wanted to direct it myself," Luke says. "It wasn't something I felt I could do."

But when they met with a director, "It just bummed me out so hard listening to this guy's ideas," says Luke. "It made me start thinking, 'Will I have to listen to this every (expletive) day, some guy interpreting what I was thinking?' "

They kept pitching it, often to "punk executives" who didn't get what Luke was striving for. Like Anderson and other young filmmakers of his generation, Luke's favorite films are the prickly, funny, alive character studies made in Hollywood in the 1970s, movies snapping with gritty realism and honesty within a rambling, episodic structure. Movies like "Scarecrow," "Harold and Maude" and "Cisco Pike," which happens to co-star Kristofferson and Stanton.

"When people found out I was writing a script, some sent me these (expletive) how-to-write-a-script books," recalls Luke. "And I just thought, 'Why would I want this?' People were telling me you have to have the plot introduced by Page 11 and you can't introduce anything new after Page 50. And I wondered why do I have to do it that way? If I can tell a story in 110 pages, why does it matter when anything happens? I may be wrong, but why not just do it on instinct?"

This was a tough sell to studio suits. "You'd fly to New York and sit at a table with five people under 30 who have no frame of reference. I could feel myself starting to seethe," Luke says.

By the time the film secured funding, with a budget around $8 million, Luke had decided to direct the darn thing himself. Then he thought of Andrew, who had directed two documentaries, which makes him the first filmmaking Wilson of the clan. Andrew, 40, would be a collaborator of like mind and taste and a good way to allay first-timer pressure.

Shooting at the O'Quinn Ranch in Wimberley and Travis and Barton Heights and the historic Perry Mansion in Austin, the co-directors split duties, one of them blocking, the other setting up shots with director of photography Steve Mason ("Strictly Ballroom"), who helped them nail the flat but textured look of the comedy-dramas of Hal Ashby ("Harold and Maude," "The Last Detail").

"When I think about some guy doing it alone, I don't know how they do it," Luke says. "I've always had a lot of respect for my friend Wes Anderson. But thinking back to 'Bottle Rocket' or 'Rushmore,' I realize you almost have to be a force of nature to get it done on your own. It's like losing your virginity. I felt like, if I could just get the chance to do this one more time, I'd be great at it!"

Owen, the blond Wilson with the puckish mien and nose that curves like a hula dancer, has been directed by Hollywood heavyweights, from Anderson and Michael Bay to Alan Rudolph. Family or not, Owen had reservations about his siblings' competence.

"There was some debate about that before I got down there," Owen says. "It's OK to be directed by your older brother. I'm used to him bossing me around. But having your younger brother tell you what he thinks you need to do, that's more difficult to swallow. But I managed to rise above it. I told Luke that if he had anything to say to me just say it to Andrew and let him tell me."

Owen, the wiseguy, proved a fruitful collaborator. He and Luke would riff on scenes, whipping them to a comic froth.

"He added a lot to his scenes," Luke says. "Sometimes I'd wonder what Owen thought I was doing. But once he got down to Austin and around Harry Dean and the others I could feel him sense that this could turn out pretty good. That made me feel good."

"It's weird to have the funniest person you know be your own brother, but that's the case with Owen," Andrew says. "He would do things that were incredible."

Directing seasoned stars approaching their dotage was an intimidating prospect that Luke and Andrew successfully worked through.

"It's not like you're directing them but just having a conversation with them and figuring it out," says Luke. "Sometimes those guys have a way of doing things that takes what's on the page and makes it a lot cooler."

Sometimes the acting legends bristled at the whippersnappers' way of doing things.

"We got in an argument with Harry Dean one day," Andrew recalls. "We were trying to get him to do something he didn't want to do, and he said, 'I'm a highly trained professional (expletive) actor, man. That's why I work all the time. This is your first movie. Don't forget that.'

"The good thing about two directors is we can be good cop/bad cop," Andrew continues. "Harry Dean would tease Luke a lot about the script. We had specific ideas about the way we wanted stuff, so we discouraged ad-libbing. Harry Dean has a fairly loose approach, and sometimes he would try to insert words here and there that weren't in the script. I was always sent into the breach by Luke to correct him and Harry Dean would blow up at me. He would tell me to tell 'Ernest,' as in Ernest Hemingway, to relax."

"The Wendell Baker Story," which is seeking distribution, is a true family affair. Joining the brothers were mother Laura, a renowned Texas photographer who was the film's still photographer, and Luke's mutt Brother, a controversial cast member.

"I hired my dog and took a lot of flak for that. Andrew was saying he was neurotic and crazy," says Luke, who's now writing a comedy for himself and Martin Lawrence.

"So I made a bet with Andrew and the director of photography that if he did a good job they'd buy him a full dinner from Fleming's (steakhouse). Sure enough he did a great job and those guys had to buy him a $50 dinner from Fleming's and he chowed down. They bought him a T-bone with mashed potatoes. I'll never forget walking into my hotel room after he'd eaten it. He looked like he was nodding out. I'd never seen him in such a blissed-out state."