The only definite people are the hero and heroine in the foreground, and maybe one other.

Though these three be in ball-costume, the little triangle they occupy next to the camera is in sort an interior, while the impersonal guests behind them conform to the pageant principles of out-of-doors, and the dancers are to the main actor as is the wind-shaken forest to the charcoal-burner, or the bending grain to the reaper.
The Intimate Motion Picture is the world's new medium for studying, not the great passions, such as black hate, transcendent love, devouring ambition, but rather the half relaxed or gently restrained moods of human creatures.

It gives also our idiosyncrasies.

It is gossip _in extremis_.
It is apt to chronicle our petty little skirmishes, rather than our feuds.

In it Colin Clout and his comrades return.
The Intimate Photoplay should not crowd its characters.