Edward Hopper
Tate Modern, London

Nicky Charlish

The American Dream has a counterpart - the American Fear. This takes on various forms: the horror or disaster movie, the moral panic, and belief in alien abduction. But this fear is a staged act of make-believe, has all the spontaneity of a sadomasochism scene performed regularly by a prostitute with her john. Edward Hopper's art is different: it's really discomfiting stuff - at least, for persons of a certain disposition. And its very setting within normality - its seeming peacefulness - is what gives it such a sharp edge. Tate Modern's exhibition - the first of Hopper's work in Great Britain for over 20 years - gives us a chance to experience him cut us to the quick.

Born in 1882 in Nyack - a small town forty miles north of New York City - Edward Hopper's artistic talent was encouraged by his family. He went to art college, but the key event in his artistic training came in 1906 with his first visit to Paris. He was inspired by the Impressionists; Manet, Degas, Pissaro, Sisley, Monet and Cézanne. He painted in their style, which he combined with a highly pessimistic vision.

Which work best exemplifies this in the exhibition? 'New York Interior' of circa 1921 shows a woman's back as she dresses or disrobes. Framed by the window, it's as if she's imprisoned by where she must go - or has been. A downcast young woman sits alone in 'Automat' of 1927: is she awaiting an assignation which she fears? Has she received bad news? Or is she perennially unhappy? 'Office at Night' of 1940 shows us a secretary looking at her boss with the annoyed expectation of someone who expects an overdue declaration of affection - or who is dying to leave work and get home. 'Summertime' of 1943 shows a woman who seems predatory - yet has a sense of foreboding - as she steps onto the street. Behind her, a breeze-blown curtain builds on this sense of threat not only to summery joy, but also to the woman's well-being.

In 'Excursion into Philosophy', of 1959, a man sits on a bed, whilst behind him a woman naked form the waist down lies in the foetal position, and with her back towards him. On the bed lies an open book (a Bible? a textbook?). His face is collapsed with desolation, as if he hasn't simply undergone the petit mort of orgasm, but that his whole spirit has died. 'Intermission' of 1963 shows a woman in a theatre - the front of the stage is just visible within the picture - who seems totally abandoned, not just by whoever may be accompanying her but by everyone. Her desolation is emphasised by the surrounding seats that contain none of the detritus of programmes, bags and coats that usually litter a theatre when libation and lavatory summon.

Buildings and landscapes are places which crush, menace, threaten. In 'Lighthouse Hill' of 1927, a lighthouse - a building normally associated with safety and sanctuary - is part-lit by a sickly light, part obscured by shadows which suggest some unseen threat, and wholly dominated by dark skies. 'Captain Upton's House', of the same year, leaps out of threateningly from the canvas like an animal ready to devour its prey - in this case the onlooker. The isolated house nestling in the landscape of 'Hills, South Truro' of 1930 could be the hideout for a fugitive gangster on the run. 'Dawn in Pennsylvania' of 1942 shows a station platform behind which lurk seemingly-silent factories which have yet to burst into life with smoke and flames. All is solitude and drabness, without even the toil of work to redeem it.

'Nighthawks' of 1942 is probably Hopper's best-known work - and one of the most enigmatic. What could be simpler than figures in a bar at night? But things aren't as clear-cut as they seem. Does the couple at the counter really want the words of wisdom which the grimacing waiter is imparting? In what private world is the single man at the bar lost? Is the bar a place of conviviality or does it merely heighten, rather than lighten, the encircling gloom of the street outside? 'Nighthawks' is also one of the best examples of the way Hopper manages to frame the characters within a picture, force them on our attention. It's also a reminder that he used his wife as his model for female figures, and it's perhaps fitting that the last picture in the exhibition is 'Two Comedians' of 1966, in which a man and a woman appear on stage in pierrot-like costumes as if about to take a bow. Neither is smiling, reminding us that the Hopper and wife performance (she insisted on being the only female model that Hopper ever used) has hardly been a comedy routine. Hopper died in the following year.

Hopper's technical side has its critics. His work does sometimes have a certain lumpiness about it, especially where the human figure is concerned, but that was a legacy from his love of Impressionism: his self-portraits of 1903-06 and 1925-30 - also both featured in the exhibition - demonstrate that he was perfectly competent with depicting the human form.

Some have said that Hopper's work tailed-off in later years and became the artistic equivalent of the noir novels and films of the 1930s and 1940s. He was certainly travelling along the same mean streets traversed by writers such as Hammett, Chandler and Thompson. But that was because he wanted to show, as he said, 'all the sweltering, tawdry life of the American small town, and behind it all, the sad desolation of our suburban landscape'. And it's difficult not to feel that he made the decision o explore that societal landscape when he made his first visit to Paris: the territory visited by the Impressionists wasn't always very joyful either. He wasn't acting as a sort of Johnny-come-lately illustrator for the masters of pulp fiction: they'd started their journey through America's dark underbelly long before it was taken up by Hollywood.

Hopper seems to be regarded as a naughty boy by some present-day critics. It's difficult not to feel that his lack of interest in contemporary artistic movements of his day such as Abstract Expressionism or Pop Art has contributed to this. His pessimistic view of America may also have provoked some hostility too. Defenders of optimism - one of America's defining characteristics - are hardly likely to look favourably upon Hopper, the Yankee Doodle Dandy of depression. But forget all that - go and see this exhibition. Nowhere do the stars shine better than in the gutters of his desolate streets.

Till 5 September 2004
Tate Modern, Bankside, London