GAZIANTEP, Turkey — The worst day on the set of “Banned in Syria,” the actors agreed, was when the sniper struck in June. A location scout was preparing for the day’s filming when a single bullet killed him instantly.
The cast and crew continued undeterred. That is the bargain when you sign up to produce a rebel television series in the wartime Syrian city of Aleppo with little pay, no insurance and militias that want you dead.
During a marathon filming in June to rush this season’s episodes to air in time for Ramadan, the producers of “Banned in Syria” overcame obstacles from the lethal to the prosaic. A second crew member was wounded in crossfire and died several days later. Barrel bombs and shells derailed scenes. Out of respect, filming also paused during the frequent passing funerals. At the end of each day, the technicians struggled with the painfully slow Internet connections as they uploaded footage to film editors at the office just across the border here in Gaziantep.
The creators of “Banned in Syria,” a show that parodies all sides in Syria’s civil war, are desperate for their work to succeed as profitable entertainment — and as political satire.
Most of the scenes take place in the rubble-strewn streets of Aleppo or in damaged buildings. The show skewers President Bashar al-Assad and his government, as well as the religious groups that have taken over much of the uprising. It even mocks the rebels in the Free Syrian Army, who provide security when the show is filmed on location.
“We make fun of the way they treat civilians, but they have no choice but to protect us,” said Yamen Nour, one of the stars of the show. Mr. Nour, 37, a painter and actor who led demonstrations in 2011, considers his theater and television work a continuation of the revolution by other means.
“We want to show people that we are still living,” he said. “It’s very difficult to make people smile during war. We want them to forget the war for a moment.”
Tony el-Taieb, 24, the producer of the series, said he and the 55 or so actors and crew members who work for his company, Lamba Productions, believed that Syria’s original revolutionaries must establish cultural alternatives to those generated by the government in Damascus.
“Our videos drive the regime crazy, because we show the reality,” Mr. Taieb said. “We can’t leave the field of drama to the regime.”
The political ethos of “Banned in Syria” and of Lamba is quintessentially urban and cosmopolitan — the spirit of the original nonviolent uprising in 2011 against Mr. Assad that preceded the civil war. The idea was to broach every taboo subject big and small: the fawning respect accorded to military officers, family feuds and even religion.
To minimize danger, Lamba does editing and postproduction in an apartment here, but Mr. Taieb insisted that filming, theater production and most radio broadcasting take place in Aleppo, a divided city that was once Syria’s economic powerhouse and now symbolizes the society’s intractable divisions and the wanton destruction of the four-year war.
So far, most of the rebel-produced television series have been leaden, barely registering in the milieu of soap operas and serials for which Syria has long been famous across the Arab world.
“Banned in Syria” airs on Aleppo Today, a channel for revolutionaries, but Mr. Taieb said the serial gets most of its views on YouTube. He has received messages from friends and relatives of officials about recent episodes, and the comments on YouTube and Facebook suggest that government stalwarts and active-duty soldiers are among the fans of the series.
“We’re talking about everything you can’t discuss in Damascus, because there the walls have ears,” Mr. Taieb said.
A lawyer and activist from a wealthy Sunni Muslim family in Aleppo, Mr. Taieb, whose real name is Qusai Hayani, adopted a Christian nom de guerre when the uprising began in the hopes of persuading minority friends to join the revolution.
While rebel militia ranks are overwhelmingly Sunni, Lamba Productions reflects Syria’s ethnic and sectarian diversity, with team members representing Alawites, Christians, Druse and Kurds.
Authenticity is important to the producers, but then so is staying on budget. The cast and crew members said they supported filming the series inside what they considered “liberated Syria,” but they also realized they could not afford multiple takes.
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The resulting complications are visible in “Genie, Genie,” one of this season’s most popular episodes, featuring a dimwitted djinn fielding poignant but comical wishes from the denizens of an apocalyptic Aleppo.
“The passport you gave me was fake!” complains the hapless Syrian, played by Jihad Saka Abu Joud, 32, who found a magic lamp in the ruins of his home.
“Sorry,” replies the genie, played by Mr. Nour. “My supplier is a jerk.”
A real-life shell explodes in the background, a puff of smoke visible in the frame. The ersatz genie delivers his next line without missing a beat. Mr. Abu Joud flinches then recovers. The take rolls on.
Mr. Abu Joud can mug like the British character Mr. Bean, but he has gained notoriety for another talent: singing ballads. During breaks, Mr. Abu Joud regaled the crew with revolutionary songs, though he feared Aleppo residents would resent them or consider them frivolous. He discovered the opposite, however.
In an encounter captured on video, Mr. Abu Joud stops singing as a funeral procession approaches. The father of the deceased orders Mr. Abu Joud to resume and dances as his grieving family intermingles with the “Banned in Syria” crew.
“This support gives us a lot of power,” Mr. Abu Joud said.
The last episodes were still being edited during the first week of Ramadan, in the middle of June, in a fevered rush. After midnight during one of those sessions, some of the actors and Mr. Taieb gathered around a monitor to admire the genie episode. The unpacked bags of equipment from the filming in Aleppo were still piled in a jumble by the door.
Although the team is mostly secular and includes several non-Muslims, it refrained from eating and smoking in the common areas of the office during the Ramadan fast. After sunset, though, the Bohemian air returned. Coffee cups littered the tables and a haze of cigarette smoke reduced visibility across the room.
Most of the actors are wanted by the government. Mr. Taieb’s father was held for nearly a year, and the brother of another player, Zakaria Abdelkafi, remains in prison.
For all the risk and the weighty mission, the actors and producers seem to be having a good time. As the crew finished the postproduction work for “Banned in Syria,” they were already developing a concept for a 24-minute drama about a journalist covering Syria’s war and future comedic pieces.
And while filming during a civil war is less than ideal, there is at least one production benefit.
“If there were no war, our work would take much longer,” Mr. Nour said.
Others on the team agreed.
“Can you imagine how long it would take to build the set of a destroyed building?” Mr. Abu Joud said. “Thanks to the war, it’s all ready to go.”