Jane Franklin doesn’t sweat the technique: Her choreography is always lovely and expansive, but it’s never flashy enough to be distracting. Maybe that’s a function of Franklin’s wry and perverse sense of humor bubbling beneath the surface of each of her pieces. Or maybe it’s because she never seems content to let her audiences simply savor the beauty of the dancers in motion: Bodies become cogs in the machinery (as in Temporal Interference) or alternate instruments (as in this year’s impressive Sound Walk) or, really, anything but bodies. Sometimes Franklin seems more like a composer than a choreographer, frequently breaking her pieces into separate “movements,” each with its own funky rhythm. Of course, modern dance has very few rules, and Franklin breaks all of ’em.